Strun Druniik
by HydrophisBelcheri
Summary: She did not believe in fate, nor did she believe in destiny, but power, power was real. It was true. She just had to obtain it without utterly destroying herself in the process. First story, so reviews are much appreciated! (Very AU take on Main/Dawnguard/Dragonborn questlines.)
1. Unbound

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks for clicking on my story! This is my first (big) piece of writing that i've ever done, so feedback is welcome. First things first, I am so sorry about the lack of indenting on each paragraph. I have tried everything, spaces, tabs, shift... nothing works. I even contacted the website managers but they never got back with me, so unfortunately we will all have to deal with this hunk of text mess. My apologies. On another note, please excuse my grammatical mistakes for the first handful of chapters, as I started this in one big splurge, but I promise i'm getting better as I go, so stick with me. This is going to (hopefully) be a large project that I might split into thirds, going over the main questline and the Dawnguard and DragonBorn DLC's.

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Fire surged around her, engulfing everything in sight, yet she felt a chill deep in her bones. Flames like wild animals leapt up in flurries and sparks, landing on her body. She sank down into her nest of heat, welcoming it, yearning for it.

It still wasn't enough.

She jerked awake, instantly flooded in a wave of pain. Dimly, she registered the rope binding her hands, and the uncomfortable rocking of the cart on uneven terrain. Sunlight flashed across her eyes, making her wince. How long had she been unconscious? Her thoughts were as hazy as the mid morning light.

"Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." The rich, lilting voice belong to a large man with blond hair and crystalline blue eyes.

"Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I'd have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." This man was scrawny, with dull brown hair and filthy skin covered in tattered rags. He turned his rheumy, blood shot eyes to her.

"You there, you and me, we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." She didn't bother to reply, still trying to sort out her muddled thoughts.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now thief." Stated the Nord.

The driver shouted at them to shut up. The harsh volume of his voice made her head swim.

The thief turned his nervous eyes to her right, "What's wrong with him, huh?" He was looking at another blond nord that she hadn't noticed before. He was dressed in finer clothes than the other prisoners, and a gag covered his mouth.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Retorted the big blond. She frowned. Her head was clearing now, and she fully understood the implications of being in the same prison cart as the "True High King".  
 _  
_She craned her neck, trying to observe the scenery around them. All around her were towering Pine trees, still heavy with winter snow, surrounded by mountains clawing towards the heavens. _Skyrim._

She could hear the thief begin to fervently pray to his gods. She wanted to punch him. Couldn't he have a mental breakdown more quietly?

Stern, militaristic cries rang out around the keep, Legates and Commanders calling their troops to order as the headsman was prepared at the chopping block.

She tried to remain stoic. She didn't want to die, not by a long shot, yet there were worse ways of dying. However she planned to go down fighting. She was not raised to be some meager sheep led to the slaughter. Even if she died today, she would find someway to take someone out with her. That she swore, for who were they to bind and leash her? What crime had she committed? She hadn't even been _trying_ to cross the border. Or at least not in theory. All she recalled was tripping through the brush, running from something. Guards perhaps?

The cart rolled to a stop, pulling her out of her reverie."Why are we stopping?" The thief cried.

"What do you think?" Replied the Nord soldier. "End of the line. Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting."

"No wait, we're not rebels!" He desperately pleaded.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." She couldn't help but agree with the Soldier as her bare feet touched the rocky dirt beneath her. Death is death, as sure as the sky's the sky. It is not something you can run or hide from, it is just another stage in everyone's life. What's the point in crying about the inevitable? The thief continued to moan, repeating his claim to innocence. The Nord mumbled about the lists.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm." The gagged noble stepped forward quietly. The Nord solemnly called his regards to the retreating man. "Ralof of Riverwood." The Blond man, Ralof, stepped away from her. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

Lokir's watery eyes darted back and forth, like an animal caged, before letting out a cry. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The fool started to run as the captain shouted out. He gave out a mad, gaspy laugh, "You're not gonna kill me!" But his body hit the ground all the same, a muffled _thud_ as three arrows found his back. She briefly wondered if weak men went to Sovngarde. The captain called her to the front as the man next to her checked his papers before looking at her.

"Who are you?"

"Madrigal." He waited, perhaps for a last name. The silence started to drag. "Just Madrigal." He nodded, looking confused.

"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list." The Imperial woman looked her over with a sneer.

"Forget the list, she goes to the block."

Yes, she was going to kill this woman. The Nord who had first addressed her was looking at her with pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood." _Not likely._

She turned to follow after the woman leading her to death.

The first man had died with pride and a rebellious nonchalance that impressed her, yet he did nothing to stop the axe from coming down. A waste of certain death and spirit. At least now she got to steal the show.

"Next, the Wood Elf!" She shambled forward, wincing at her cuts and scrapes. The peasants of the town looked at her with solemn curiosity, wondering what crime she could have committed. She couldn't have answered their questions if she tried. Or cared. The officer raised her boot up to push her down, but her metal clad foot never touched the prisoner's back, probably because she wasn't there anymore.

Time slowed as she spun away from the Captain, wrapping her bound hands around the Headsman's neck, snapping it quickly. Before the Captain could raise her sword, she threw the Headsman onto her. Not a particularly graceful or powerful throw with her hands, bound as they were, but it got the job done. The Captain couldn't handle the weight of both her heavy metal armor and the sudden extra pounds added by the Headman's corpse. As the Captain staggered under the heavy load, Madrigal took advantage of the distraction as she leapt upon the foot soldiers standing next to her before they could react.

She was so caught in the current of battle that she didn't register the Dragon at first. Her world shook as she fell, turning dark as thunder clouds rolled in, dropping flaming boulders from the sky. Words chanted through her brain, echoing pure power and rage. She was gripped in a sudden fury. Who dare challenge her during her kill? The blood was hers today. Her furious golden eyes met livid red, and the sound seemed to cut out as blood roared in her ears. Words chanted in her skull, calling to her, echoes of something greater. She screamed her challenge to the massive ebony Dragon, but it was already flying away to pick off more weak mortals. This dismissal made her want to fly to this dragon and demand that he fight her, to see who was stronger. Someone grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her bloodlust.

Suddenly she was in a tower, and her senses came rushing back like flooding water. Ralof was lucky she hadn't killed him just for touching her while she was in her violent spell. What had happened to her? Ulfric and some of his Stormcloaks were there, the majority of which were lying injured on the ground. "Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Asked Ralof. "Legends don't burn down villages." She quickly undid her binds. Fools didn't even tie them behind her back.

As soon as her hands were free, she leapt up the stairs, not waiting for the tower to fall down around her. Suddenly, the chanting returned, she could physically _feel_ the Dragon's large bulk winging towards the tower. She ducked down just as the wall exploded, sending shrapnel and debris flying, hitting the soldier who was standing on the now destroyed landing. The Dragon wheeled away, spewing fire from its maw as it went.

Looking out over the crumbling brick and mortar, she saw a small house, its thatch roof torn open, fire licking at the wooden sides. If she had god's, she would pray to them right now. She backed up, stepping as far away as she could before sprinting forward.

The gap was large, and if she didn't have her elven speed and agility, she would be lying on the burning ground with the charred logs. As she hit the smoking floorboards, the entire house seemed to creak and moan in protest. She started moving as fast as she could, the wooden slats burning her bare feet as she raced against the flames clawing at the vulnerable roof. After what seemed like an eternity, she reached the end of the house, not hesitating as she dropped through the smoldering hole in the floor. The sight that greeted her was much worse than the burning home behind her.

The sky stretched out in a black canvas, blanketing the world, as if trying to hide the slaughter from the gods. Everywhere, houses and shops were set aflame, wagons were upended, the charred bodies of man, mer, and horses alike were strewn about the sandy ground dark with blood. A shriek split the air as the Dragon landed in front of her. Once again she was seized with the unconquerable urge to fight, to challenge and conquer. The nord from before, the one with chestnut hair who had read the list, yanked her backwards, out of the dragon fire that shot from the black demon's throat.

"Still alive prisoner? Keep with me if you want to stay that way!" She bridled at his tone. She could handle herself perfectly well… but an extra hand probably wouldn't hurt right now.

The Dragon spread its wings, pumping itself into the smoky air. As soon as it was gone, she dashed forward with the soldier, dodging meteors as they went. "Stick to the wall!" He cried right as the Dragon landed down onto the battlement above them, one leathery, scaled tarp of its wing slamming inches from her face. The Soldier was hiding under its impressive neck as it roasted another man alive.

With a mighty roar, the Dragon shot back into the sky, blinding them in a cloud of dust. They ran forward once more, scrambling through wooden pillars and a fireplace that used to be a home, emerging onto a small road that led to the keep which was still intact despite the hellscape around it.

She pumped her legs as hard as she could, not caring about the man has he ran to help someone else. She was keenly aware of every scream of every mortal tossed into the air or struck by fire. Their panicked cries filled her elven ears as that gods damned relentless chanting assaulted her once more. Not caring where she went, she slammed open the door to the first keep she came to, nearly falling into the cool darkness of the fort's interior.

She gasped, sucking down the clean air into her smoke filled lungs. Every damp, moldy spot on the wall was a blissful reprieve from the cruel reality of the outside world. She stumbled over to a dead Stormcloak in the corner. Abruptly, she shed his body of armor and single axe. Anything was better than nothing.

Another roar shook the keep. She had to keep moving and get out as fast as she could before the tower came down on her. The gate to her right was locked, and on her left there was closed blockade with a lever on the other side. Trapped.

Effectively, stupidly, frustratingly trapped. If she went outside, she would die, but if she waited for the Dragon to leave, she could very well starve to death or risk being caught underneath the collapsing keep. Perhaps she could try to slip through the locked gate? Not likely.

She heard footsteps approaching from down the hall, behind the blockade. Quickly, she hid in the shadows by the wall, hoping she could take them by surprise. The blockade slid open with a shudder as the Captain who sentenced her to the block and an unfamiliar foot soldiers marched into view. She knew that she was in bad shape, lack of food, water, and the hellish events of the last hour made sure of that. Plus, the Captain was in heavy armor with a sidekick to boot.

Madrigal weighed her options. She could sneak behind the foot soldier, slicing his throat then leaving her with better odds, but she was still weak, and that Captain's armor looked as thick as her forearm. Not to mention the axe could very well get stuck in the soldier's throat, leaving her weaponless.

 _Well, not entirely weaponless._ She turned over her hands, summoning a flame in her palm. Unlike many Bosmer, she wasn't that bad with the arcane, in fact she usually fought with a bow from distance, but relied on magic or daggers up close. But to lose her only weapon? She would have to rely completely on her magicka reserves. _So be it._

She stealthily crept up behind the soldier, and with a hefty slash, or hack really, plunged the blade into the soldier's neck. Like she had suspected, the axe became lodged. Not wasting any time lamenting over the loss, she jumped out of the way and began spewing hot flames at the Captain. She managed to hold up a steady stream, long enough to roast the Captain in her armor. When all that was left was a smoking mound of scorched flesh, Madrigal leaned back and sighed. Walking over to take the soldier's sword. She much proffered sharp blades to blunt meat cleavers, they worked better with her fast style of fighting. She huffed, frowning at the hunger that knotted in her belly. The faster she left, the better.

She had crawled through the depths of the dungeon for hours, encountering many soldiers, both Stormcloak and Imperial. Most were already killing each other, so she didn't have to help, but other times she came upon lone men and women who would charge her blindly. Soon she lost track of time, only feeling the gnawing hunger at her stomach, the scrape of her throat, and the ache in her bones. At one point she came across the torture chambers, a small cell in the corner held a corpse wearing mage robes with some spell books at his side. She snatched some lockpicks that were resting on a small table and picked the lock. She could sell the robes, but she donned the hood and stuffed the books as well as some stray septims and potions in the knapsack she had found. As she went deeper through the keep, the less people she saw. She was ready to give up and begin backtracking to the surface after having shot five different spiders with a newly acquired bow when she saw sunlight.

Real, genuine sunlight. A little beam of it shining through a hole in the roof of the cavern. The sight was so beautiful that she wanted to sit down and cry. She snuck past a sleeping bear before limping out through a slim crack in the wall, motes of dust swirling in her wake as she left Helgen behind her.


	2. Before the Storm

The entire cavern system had collapsed as soon as she had stepped into the sunlight. She couldn't tell if that was just great luck or a close encounter with death. She had dragged her way down the path, wandering until she found a town, until she came upon three pillars on a platform. Each had a different constellation engraved onto them, The Thief, The Warrior and The Mage. Tentatively she had brushed her hand across the mage stone, then leapt back in surprise as it began to glow a palest blue, shooting a beam into the sky. After that she avoided touching anything, and tried to shamble along a bit faster. She saw wolves watching her from behind the pines, but thankfully they didn't challenge her. Deer drank along the river side before she startled them away with her stench of blood and sweat. Up ahead she saw a small village, and silently prayed that they had an inn with cheap food.

Riverwood was the town's name. It was quaint, with little wooden houses and thatched roofs stationed next to a gurgling river, overlooked by pines and the slightly foreboding nordic ruin nestled in the mountains, the locals called it Bleak Falls Barrows. She knew one thing for certain, exploring it could wait for tomorrow. Pulling her hood up tighter around her face, she walked to the Sleeping Giant Inn, where she bought food, drink and a bed with her meager gold, then proceeded to collapse onto the bed.

Madrigal had always been an early riser, and not even exhaustion and near death could stop that apparently. She groaned as she sat up, her muscles shrieking in protest. She would go to the trader and sell off the extra armour and weapons that she had acquired while in Helgen, make some gold while she was at it. She figured the Jarl of whoever owned this area of Skyrim needed to be warned about the Dragon, seeing as how she might be the only one alive to tell the tale. She strapped on her faded Stormcloak armour, hoping she wouldn't be attacked in the streets for flying what very well might be enemy colors, and didn't bother putting on boots. Growing up amongst the trees she had always gone barefoot, she would forsake warmth for being able to move quickly and without hinderance.

She tried to keep to the morning shadows as well as she could, thankful that not too many people were out this early as she slipped into The Riverwood Traders door.

"Well one of us has to do something!" said a clear female voice. "I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief chasing!" replied a man with a voice like gravel. "Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let's hear it!" "We are done talking about this." The man suddenly noticed she was there. "Oh a customer! Sorry you, uh, had to hear that." She just slammed her pack onto the counter.

Her transactions had all been made, and she now had money to purchase some leather armor from the blacksmith, but as she turned to walk out she stopped. "So, you mentioned a thief problem?"

She got her wish to explore Bleak Falls Barrow. Lucan said that's where the thieves had taken his "Golden Claw" an ornamental dragon claw made of pure gold. Why a shopkeeper in some backwater village would need that eluded her, but he promised money, which definitely needed more of. The ruin was full of your standard, run of the mill bandits,but as she traveled deeper in she came across a massive Frostbite Spider the size of a small house. She wasn't surprised. She had seen the spider webs as she went, and she had had to cut through a large swath of it to enter the spider's lair anyhow. It still hadn't prepared her for the frothing, hairy monstrosity dropping out of a tunnel-like hole in the ceiling. As soon as its eight legs touched the ground, it shot a paralytic poison at her from across the room. A bandit trapped in spider webs was begging her to kill the thing before it ate him, reminding her of Lokir before he got sniped in the back with arrows. She dodged a flying ball of green goop, and had just enough time to prepare herself before the creature was on her, it's black pincers trying to rip off her face and other extremities. Oh boy. How fun. After twenty minutes of jumping out of the way from flying acid, and desperately swinging at any body parts that she could reach, she finally killed the damn thing.

With a huff and an angry snarl she marched on the Dunmer suspended off the ground in white threading. "You, over here!" He cried, struggling in his sticky confines. "You did it, you killed it. Now cut me down before anything else shows up." he stated imperiously. "Where's the Golden Claw?" she bit out. "Yes, the Claw! I know how it works, The Claw, the markings, the door in the hall of stories. I know how they all fit together! Help me down and i'll show you. You won't believe the power the ancient nords have hidden there." She narrowed her amber eyes at him. She had no doubt that this man was going to run as soon as she cut him free, but he couldn't give her the Claw while he was trapped. She took out her dagger and began sawing away at the webbing. "Yes, it's coming loose! I can feel it!"

As soon as his feet touched the ground he began running, just as suspected. "You fool!" He crowed out. "Why should I share my treasure with anyone?" She sighed as she smoothly picked up her dagger and swiftly threw it into his uncovered back. Once again she was reminded of Lokir as the bandit's grey body slammed into the ground. She walked over to him with a steady gait, removing his hide helmet revealing his angular features, ashen skin, and upturned scarlet eyes marking him as a dark elf. She took his gold and weapons, as well as the helmet and Claw, and stowed them in her pack as she stood up and continued into the dungeon.

Draugr. The crypt had gods damned draugr. Every room was filled with the once living, now very dead nords who had served the Dragon Overlords millennia ago, were walking around, trying to kill her. She recovered from her shock when she found that they could be killed as easily as any man. After battling her way through draugr after draugr until she finally came to a hallway lit by dim brazier light. Who even lit these things? The draugr? A laughable concept to be sure. Every wall in the hall was engraved with carving after carving depicting the ancient Dragon Priests who had worshipped the dragons. _The Hall of Stories._

At the end of the hall there was the strangest door that Madrigal had ever seen. It was black metal, thick and dense, and had no handles or even a crack to indicate how to open it, instead it sported three circular concentric rings, each engraved in gold with a different animal. The Owl, the Bear, and the Moth. Inside all of the circles lay a gold disc with the imprint of a dragon's claw. She placed the Claw into the disc. Nothing happened. It had to be a puzzle, most likely concerning the three animals. She touched the Owl, and the outermost ring turned, landing on another animal. The Moth. Understanding dawned on her as she looked at the Claw. Flipping it over she found three symbols lined up from top to bottom. A Bear, a Moth, and an Owl.

She began turning all of the rings until they matched up with what was marked on the claw, when she had them all set, she placed the Claw into the disc once again. The door shook as dust fell from the low ceiling. The three dials all started turning at once, until each of them stopped on the Owl. The door slid into the floor. She wanted to marvel at how the ancient nords had accomplished such technology without the use of magic. Did it operate on pulleys or simple triggers? Were the stone walls hollow to fit the engineering behind it? She had so many questions, all of which could wait to be answered after she had left the tomb.

As she entered the final room, no, _cavern_ , bats swooped down from their hiding spots, startled by her approach. A small stream winded its way through the cavern, a tiny bridge leading to a raised platform with stairs continuing up to the top. She made tentative steps as she crossed the bridge. Something was here, she was sure of it

All of her previous concerns flew away as she began to hear the whispers. There, at the end of the platform, was a wall. A massive wall with no sides that stretched to the top of the cavern roof. Strange markings had been written across the entire wall, they looked almost like talon marks had made them, long slashes and cuts carved into the rock face.

She stepped closer, and suddenly the whispers became chants, booming and pulsing in her brain. She touched the wall, and understanding filled her, and yet, not. It was like having a word on the tip of your tongue, knowing that you had intended to say something, but suddenly forgot. It made her want to scream. What was here that captivated her so? Why was she so hypnotized by these marks?

She would have stood there forever, pondering the meaning of this all, if she had not heard the sound of a coffin scraping open. She froze, then whirled around.

The Draugr that stood before her was wearing a helm that boasted two twin horns reaching skyward from its skull, its glowing blue eyes were chips in the dark as it climbed out of its sarcophagus, withered black limbs gripping an ancient great sword that glowed with a pale blue energy. It sucked in a deep breath. Not knowing exactly what it was doing, but knowing it wouldn't be good, she dove to the side as the Deathlord shouted out a word, a single word that radiated pure power and force. "FUS." A ripple of energy came from it's dry, husk of a mouth, sending a crack through the wall she had just stood in front of mere seconds before.

She didn't think that a single hit would kill her per say, but it definitely had the potential to shatter quite a few bones, leaving her helpless to that wicked black sword. The creature shambled towards her, raising its weapon high. Once again she moved out of the way, but not fast enough as the blade grazed her shoulder. Instantly a wave of mind-numbing cold washed over her body just from the scratch she had received. If the actual delivery of the blow didn't kill her, then that enchantment would certainly do the trick. She backed away summoning her flames as she put away her sword. She had found the draugr had a weakness to the flames, their bodies lighting up like dry tinder in a haystack.

The Deathlord hadn't used it's shout on her again, so she suspected that it had a cool down time of sorts, leaving it open so long as she didn't get in reach of it's sword. Using both hands, she bathed the creature in a torrent of flame, it shrieked in agony, clawing at it's decaying black skin as fire raced over it's undead form. She held up the flames for a good while, but the trick was keeping up the flames without running out of magicka, which she was already dangerously close to. Her flames sputtered out and died, leaving the tomb feeling emptier and colder by the second. The Deathlord breathed in once more, readying its shout. Just as before, Madrigal leapt out of the way just in time, hearing the sounds of old jars and vases flying away and shattering on the cavern floor below. Her magicka wasn't going to recharge for a while yet, so she drew her twin short swords, charging the Draugr as it readied its weapon.

Typically, Greatswords were much heavier than Short Swords, however, she was counting on the fact that the draugr lifeless, rotted limbs, wouldn't be as strong as her living ones, and that it was weakened by her fiery onslaught just moments before.

She dashed in close, ducking the broad swing of it's large sword, putting the foul creature at a disadvantage, because she was so close, the Deathlord had difficulty moving its sword whilst trying to protect its weak, rotting flesh from her iron blades. She dropped onto her haunches and spun behind it as the Draugr lashed out in a wide, unbalanced arc, tipping sideways, giving her enough time to plunge both blades into its desecrated heart, she nearly gagged as she felt paper thin skin, elastic muscle, and brittle bone give way underneath her. The ethereal blue glow of its eyes dimmed as its limp, sack like body dropped to the ground before her. As soon as its undead curse lifted from its body, she choked on the smell of rot and decay wafting off of it in waves. It was as if the thousands of years of ruin had been held off by the spell, but now rushed back to the body, seeming to decay it in seconds.

Gingerly, trying not to breath, she picked up its weapon, strapping it to her back as she picked up all the coins and potions left in the sarcophagus bottom, but beneath all of the loot, lay a slab of stone, engraved with what looked like a map of sorts. Intrigued, she placed it in her pack as well.

She exited the platform, climbing up another set of stairs with a lever at the top, which when pulled, revealed a smaller tunnel leading out to the daylight. She smiled. Lucan better give her a damn good amount of gold for this.


	3. Dragon Rising

Lucan looked like he was going to cry when she had walked into his shop, Golden Claw in hand. He had given her fair payment and many thanks, calling to his sister Camilla to come see the Claw as she left.

Now she was on the road, walking the cobblestone path to Whiterun, the holder's capital where the Jarl resided. She planned on warning him about the dragon threat. After that, well, she didn't have half an idea about what she would do. Continue adventuring? Perhaps. Find someone and settle down? Now _that_ was a funny thought. Truthfully, she was nervous about visiting the city. She had grown up alone in the woods. She hadn't even known what a city was like until recently, having seen glimpses of the Imperial city as she had traveled across Cyrodiil, always skirting around the smaller cities, not wishing to interact with others. As for her first time in a city…, well, Helgen wasn't a great first experience, that was certain. As long as Whiterun wasn't full of screaming peasants, dragons, and executioners trying to take her head then she would be fine. She hoped.

Whiterun was a beautiful city, sat right in the middle of the grassy tundra under a clear sky. The guards were courteous, as much as they could be at least, to an elf, and children ran through the street. The openness made her a bit uncomfortable at first, in fact she was still getting used to it, but never let it be said that she wasn't good at adapting to her circumstances. The villagers however, were, _strange._

They all seemed like fine people, except for one man named Nazeem who liked to boast about his wealth and status, and an aggravating little redguard girl named Braith who postured like a peacock with its feathers. If the peacock were boasting about fighting of course. Besides this, everyone was courteous, and yet, with every meeting with a new person they insisted on touching her hand and shaking it. Why all the touching? She feared she would never understand it.

After making her way past city guards clad in yellow like the grasslands outside of the walls, and the merchant stalls decorated with pelts, meats, fruit, jewelry and more, she came to the inn, The Bannered Mare. After renting a room for the night and buying more food, she began her ascent to the upper district of the city, where the temples and wealthier families resided. A large tree stood sentinel in the small courtyard, its branches bare even in the early spring, and behind that, what couldn't have been anything but the Jarl's home. She didn't want to say palace, or castle, for it wasn't really like that. It was a large building constructed of wood, stretching up to touch the heavens. Wooden arches lined the pathway to the building's entrance, where a small pond underneath fell in waterfalls on either side, feeding the cities little streams of water.

She climbed yet another set of stairs, past a slightly crazed looking man in orange robes, who was praising the worship of Talos, crying the usual zealot fanfare, all men are maggots beneath the god's feet, unworthy compared to their splendor, blah, blah, blah. She continued on, scaling yet more stairs to the tiered city. As she crested the top, she began mentally preparing as she opened the great oaken doors.

The Dunmer woman whirled towards her. "What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors." _You have every reason to be here._ She took a deep breath. "I have news from Helgen, about the dragon attack."

The woman put away her sword. "Hmmph. Explains why the guards let you in. Follow me." The Dark Elf led her up to the dias, where a man with blond hair and a broad nose reclined on a simple, yet impressive chair with dragons carved into the armrests and backing. He was arguing with two other men, discussing how best to defend the city from attacks, but as soon as she stepped into view, he turned his sharp blue eyes to her.

"So, you were at Helgen? You saw this Dragon with your own eyes?" He asked in his thick Nordic accent. She frowned. "Yes, I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head." He frowned at her, probably wondering why she would warrant execution, before turning to the pompous little imperial standing to his right. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a Dragon?" He was almost yelling at the man now, who seemed to cower before reinstating his snobbish expression. The Dunmer woman spoke up, "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once, It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains…" She let the insinuation hang, her meaning clear. Proventus seemed to have regained his composure as he shot forward. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not-" Jarl Balgruuf shot to his feet, turning his furious gaze to the small man. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Ireleth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." The Dunmer woman bowed, "Yes, my Jarl." Proventus huffed angrily. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties." Balgruuf sat back down, watching Ireleth retreating form move down the brazier lit hall. "That would be best." He replied wearily. With a sigh he turned back to her. "Well done, you sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." He stood once more, calling a guard over before saying something in his ear. Shortly the guard returned once he had left, a wrapped parcel in his hands."Here, take this a small token of my esteem."

She thanked the guard before opening the gift, revealing a gleaming set of studded imperial armour. She touched the leather, it was of a much finer make than her plain hide armor. He seemed to study her for a moment. "There is another thing you could do. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." He turned and began walking to an open doorway of to the side of the hall, hidden behind the long dining tables. Inside stood a tall, rather lanky nord dressed in simple blue mage's robes with an awkward, too big chin, and droll eyes.

"This is Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons." The man finally seemed to notice them, moving away from his alchemy station. "Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in with the details." Jarl Balgruuf turned and walked away, leaving her with the wizard.

As soon as he opened his thin-lipped mouth, she really wished he hadn't. His voice was as boring and monotone as his appearance, and he spoke so slowly that she thought he must be a bit dim. "So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragon's." He looked her up and down. "Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say 'fetch' I really mean 'delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

She frowned before removing her pack. "You mean this old thing?" As soon as he set his sights on the tablet his dim eyes went wide. "Th-The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You have it already!" He regained some of his composure. "Well obviously you are a cut above the cloth from the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way." She just handed it to him with a deep sigh.

Suddenly she felt a presence, not unsimilar to the strange markings and the dragon that destroyed Helgen. She vaguely registered someone talking to her, Ireleth perhaps, before being swept up between two people. She was herded up a set of stairs past the throne, into a spacious back landing sporting a large set of doors to her right and a war map laid out on a long table, where Jarl Balgruuf was standing, looking slightly concerned as he shifted back and forth.

A guard ran up to Balgruuf, who asked the man a question before sending him away. She couldn't even hear what they were saying over the blood pounding in her ears. The Jarl turned to her, she made an effort to hear what he was saying. "There's no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I want you to go with Ireleth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here." It was getting harder to pay attention as her vision started going blurry. "-haven't forgotten the service you did for me in retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar. I have instructed Proventus that you are now allowed to purchase property in the city." She didn't think her heart was supposed to beat this fast. Balgruuf seemed to be done talking to her, not waiting to hear what he had to say to Farengar, she rushed out of Dragonsreach as fast as she could.

Madrigal knew she was probably drawing attention as she sprinted down the street, following the pull she felt out on the plains. One thing was for sure, she didn't think that this was normal. She let her feet carry her as she ran with almost inhuman speed, watching the golden stalks of grass fly by her as she sailed out of the Whiterun gates, heading toward the burning watchtower in the distance.

It wasn't long before she stopped amongst the crumbling ruin of the tower. The presence was still here, but fainter. She wasn't worried about it flying away. It would come to answer her call. She strode up to the tower, where inside she found a cowering guard. He looked at her with frightened eyes. "No, get back! It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!" Suddenly the presence returned, wheeling its way back towards the tower. The guard moaned beside her, "Kyne save us, here he comes again!"

The dragon was glorious in its terrible beauty as it shot fire over the grounds, it's green wings pumping through the air. A name floated into her head, Mirmulnir. The dragon's name was Mirmulnir. "Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!" he cried in his deep rocky voice, " _My overlord will devour your souls in Sovngarde!"_ How did she even know that? While the guard ran into the tower crying, her face split into a wide, feral grin. She would prove herself the greater _Dov_ today. Mirmulnir slammed into the ground, his pale green wings holding up his body as his crested skull parted, revealing razor sharp fangs the size of her forearm.

 _Yes, a most worthy opponent indeed._ She knew better than to rush in with her two swords bared and ready to spill dragon blood, already one man had been ripped in half by those mighty teeth, so instead she drew her bow, beginning to fire arrow after arrow into his scaly hide, yet she could find no weak spot besides the eyes, which she would never be able to hit, and besides, she wanted this fight to last. She knew the arrows didn't hurt the dragon too terribly, but enough piled into one place could dent and damage the hide, allowing her better access to the softer skin beneath.

Mirmulnir took off into the sky once more as archers attempted to hit him. Fools. They could never hope to shoot fast enough to catch him. He laughed, like rocks crashing down a mountain side. "I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals provided!" She bided her time, watching him coast around the tower with a hawk-like gaze, waiting for him to land. He didn't disappoint, landing hard enough to shake the tower. A guard rushed him before being swat aside with one massive wing, his body flying backwards before colliding with a rewarding _crack_ against one ruined battlement.

 _Idiot, did he think the wings were safer than the head? Now he will never learn._ She kept firing her arrows, hoping to make some kind of headway against him, yet nothing seemed to work. Her needling caught his attention, he swung his massive neck towards her. "You are brave. Bahlaan hokoron _. Worthy enemies._ Your defeat brings me honor." Then he opened his mouth and coated her in flames.

They burned. Obviously they did, but she was confused. Dragon fire was one of the hottest substances she had ever encountered, she had seen men get hit with fire, then the next instant they were gone, ashes on melted pavement. She leapt out of the flames and readied her bow, except her bow wasn't there, neither were her arrows, she only held ash. Thankfully her armour wasn't completely destroyed, but it was badly charred and had quite a few holes in it. Dumbfounded, she grabbed her iron swords, which weren't totally melted yet, but were glowing bright cherry red, but when she grabbed them, they only felt warm.

The knowledge that she was now slightly fire resistant and no longer had a bow sent her charging towards Mirmulnir, twin swords glowing in hand. If he was bothered that she was still standing he didn't show it on his draconic features. "Krif krin, Pruzah!" " _Fight courageously, Good!"_

As he snapped his intimidating jaws forward, she ducked underneath, slicing his throat as she went. Mirmulnir roared in pain, but didn't otherwise stop fighting. Some small, mortal part of her brain said that she should be afraid, but all she felt right now was pure exhilaration. Every snap of those gleaming jaws filled her with envy, each time it tried to bat her aside with its jagged wings she felt alive, every duck, roll, slash, and gout of fire made her fight all the harder. She didn't feel the burns on her arms, or the bite marks in her shoulder, only the simple thrill of asserting her dominance over this competing _Dov._

"Brit grah! " _Beautiful battle!"_ You are strong for a mortal!" For the first time in her life, she didn't even know if she was truly a mortal.

The few guards that remained alive had stopped trying to fight the dragon as soon as the small Bosmer girl had charged in with her swords aflame. She had attacked the beast with such a vicious ferocity that they had all been sure she would be dead within seconds. But she didn't die.

Indeed she was still fighting, a disturbing grin on her face as her hood flew back, her bound hair flying away in dark red curls as she continued her relentless assault on the dragon, twin blades flashing like living coals. The dragon shot another gout of flame at her, which, to all the guards astonishment she just stood in it, seeming to breathe in the inferno before leaping onto the dragon's back. It snarled and snapped at her as she crawled her way past its dangerous spikes and horns, until she reached its crest, where she raised her sword, plunging it into the dragon's brain. It shouted one sentence before it died, "Dovahkiin! NOOO!"


	4. The Way of the Voice

"Dovahkiin! _Dragonborn!_ NOOO!" Mirmulnir's final words echoed in her head. _Dragonborn._ What could it mean? As she started to come down from her high, reality hit her like a horse.

She had just killed a dragon. A _dragon._ She had climbed on top of it. Physically touched it, and killed it. Staring down at Mirmulnir's corpse, she almost felt sorry for slaying such a magnificent creature. She leaned down and touched his brow, wondering if dragons had an afterlife.

Then he started smoking. She heard Ireleth yelling at everyone to step back as fires began spreading across his limp body. She backed up as fast as she could, watching the flames climb across his steadily burning body, smoke curling into the air.

Suddenly, the sound seemed to ebb away as a rushing noise filled her ears. A channel, or some kind of energy, was pouring out of Mirmulnir. And flowing directly into her.

The rush of power hit her like a wave, she staggered under its tremendous force. Fire filled her veins as the world dimmed. All she could feel was agony, as if her very being was resorting itself. Her features felt like they were being ripped apart. She heard chanting, so powerful that she fell to her knees, the only thing she was aware of was the torrent of primeval power entering her being, no, joining with her being. And then, it was over.

 **Kast! Zu'u los kast ko daar duraal staad! Dur hi Dovahkiin!** _ **Trapped! I am trapped in this cursed place! Curse you Dovahkiin!**_

With a shock, she realized that it was Mirmulnir. She had kept her composure the past two days, but now, with this, the fact that there was a dragon trapped in her mind? She didn't know if she could handle that. She realized that everything looked different as well. Colors were brighter, images were sharper, she could faintly smell the guards who stood aways away from her. Panic was beginning to seize her. What was happening? Did she just take Mirmulnir's...soul? No, such a thing was impossible!

 **Nid,** _ **no,**_ **you are of the dovahsos, the dragonblood. You proved yourself the stronger Dov, and thus I am subject to this torture.** He sounded bitter, and for good reason. She would have gone insane being trapped in another's mind for the rest of their lives. Or maybe eternity, if he stayed with her in the afterlife. She hoped not, for his sake and hers.

She could hear the guards swarming towards her, clamoring like a flock of geese. One guard stopped in front of her.

"I can't believe it! You're….. Dragonborn…." She didn't know how to respond so she just looked at him, waiting for him to continue. "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did isn't it? You absorbed the dragon's power?" She looked back at Mirmulnir's corpse. "I- I think you may be right." The guard looked like a child receiving a gift, excited he exclaimed, "Well go on! Try to shout!"

She nearly choked. Shout? The power like that that the Deathlord had used? It would make sense, though she doubted that the Deathlord had been a Dragonborn, perhaps explaining why it could only use one word. She shivered to think how much more powerful her shout would be.

She remembered the word. Fus. She inhaled deeply, sucking as much air into her lungs before shouting.

"FUS!" The word was no longer a whisper from a cracked, dead mouth, it was a living thing, a pressure that built in her chest and ripped out of her throat, a ripple of energy that shot past her, hitting Mirmulnir's skeleton, sending the heavy bones skidding across the golden tundra. Immediately, her throat felt tight, like something was constricting the airway.

 **Los tol praagek?** _ **Is that necessary?**_ **Must you mistreat my magnificent body so?**

 _Sorry._

He just growled.

"The Thu'um! She summons the Thu'um!" She had forgotten about the guards, who were now whispering behind her. "Those born with the Dragon blood in 'em, like old Tiber Septim himself." "I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons." Another man cuffed him on the head. "There weren't any dragons then, idiot. They're just now coming back for the first time in… forever. But the old tales tell of the dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power. You must be one! What do you say Ireleth? You're being awfully quiet." "Come on Ireleth tell us, do you believe in any of this Dragonborn business?"

She didn't know, or care really, what Ireleth would have said, for she had begun to walk away. The Jarl needed to know that the dragon was dead, and then she needed to go sort her shit out, but as she was returning, a thunderous rumble shook the ground.

"DOVAHKIIN" The shout took her by surprise, then she was gripped with a sudden urge to answer the call, to go challenge those who yelled her name. The shout had come from up on top of one of the many mountains that overlooked the tundra. Specifically, it came from the tallest mountain.

She was just so, incredibly tired. All she wanted to do was report to the Jarl then go crash onto the bed waiting for her in the Bannered Mare.

So with dragging feet, she trudged her way past the nervous, whispering guards, and the shocked, curious villagers, as she made her way up to Dragonsreach, cursing all of the stairs that she had to climb to get there. Stepping through the doors of the Jarl's home, she was instantly met with a wave of heat from the braziers to block against the cold night air, she sagged, the heat making it feel like her entire body was sagging and aggravating her burn wounds.

As she shuffled and limped up the dining hall, she made a promise, that someday, she would be able to walk into the halls of Dragonsreach without wanting to fall on her face. As soon as the Jarl saw her he stood up.

"By the nine woman, did you kill the dragon or did it use you as a chew toy?" She chuckled mirthlessly, "It's dead, but I might be soon if i don't get some sleep." He sat back down, a look of concern still on his face. "So what happened out there?" She sighed. "The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon and I… I absorbed… something from the dragon."

"So it's true." He whispered. "The Greybeards really were summoning you." She frowned. "The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the way of the voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World." "What do these Greybeards want with me?" "The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the way of the voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or a shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift. The Greybeards…" The man standing to Jarl Balgruuf's left spoke to her, standing tall in his scaled armour and fierce red war paint, "Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun? That was the voice of the Greybeards, summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in… centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

Proventus stepped forward, "Hrongar, calm yourself." He said placatingly, as if soothing a dog. "What does all of this nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as she may be, I don't see any sign of her being this, what, 'Dragonborn'." She whirled on him and snarled, baring her teeth. Any more words that he might have said died on his lips as he instantly backed down from her. She was a little shocked with herself. She hadn't exactly grown up surrounded by people, but in all of her encounters she had never _snarled_ at someone!

 **Aaaah, nii lost nal kun gon.** _ **It has already begun.**_ His voice was laced with satisfaction.

She backed down, letting Hrongar argue with the little whelp, before Balgruuf cut back in, "Hrongar, don't be so hard on Avenicci." Proventus coughed, shaking off his discomfort. "I meant no disrespect, of course. It's just that… what do the Greybeards want with her?" Balgruuf sighed. "That is the Greybeards business, not ours. Whatever happened when you killed that dragon revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? You'd better get up to High Hrothgar immediately, there's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor. I envy you, you know. To climb the 7,000 steps again… I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very… disconnected from the troubles of this world." He seemed to shake himself out of his reverie.

"You've done a great service for me and the city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl, and this weapon from my personal armoury to serve as a badge of office." A guard stepped forward and gave her a beautifully crafted axe, with a soft handle and a gleaming edge as bright as dragon fire. "I'll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as thane of our city Dragonborn." She bowed, turning to leave.

Before she could exit the hall, a woman in steel armor stopped her. She was attractive enough, with dark hair, warm brown eyes, and pale nordic skin. Yet she walked with a stiff gait and her eyes seemed a little… unfocused.

"Urm, hello?" "I am sworn to protect you with my life." _A little touched in the head isn't she?_ **Rek frolik hanzalik way hotrod boz.** _ **She looks stupider than a Giant's cow**_ _ **.**_ She made to leave. "Don't you want me to come with you?" She thought of the Deathlord in Bleak Falls Barrow. What if she did get hurt? Surely having a bit of extra muscle wouldn't hurt. She sighed. "Don't make me regret this." "Of course not, Ma'am." She said with a lackadaisical smile. **You will definitely regret this joor.** _Probably._

Upon arriving at the Bannered Mare, Madrigal trudged upstairs and hit the bed, not even caring that she was in full armor.

 **Joore, what are you doing?** _Sleeping._ **Fos dreh hi seik?** _ **What do you mean?**_ **Dov do not sleep.** _I'm not exactly a dragon am I? I have the body of a mortal, so I must therefore sleep._ **Geh, but I am no mere Joor, I cannot sleep.** _Figure it out._ **Pahlokaal joor! Hi dreh ni volk fos-** But she was already fast asleep.

Dawn came, leaving her feeling like a hundred horses had trampled her. All of her injuries seemed to come alive again, pulsating with renewed vigor. She needed to buy some more poultices. **Joor, that was terrible. I command you never to do that again.** _I have to do that every night, Mirmulnir._ **Ahnaar kosli ahnaar!** _ **Torture within torture!**_ **Not only must I reside in this unnatural bonding, but I must also participate in this fake death that leaves you vulnerable and unresponsive for hours! Sahlag joore!** _You can shut up now._ But despite her protests, he kept grumbling to himself, thoroughly upset.

Ignoring him, she walked over to the small mirror on the side of the room to fix her unruly curls away from her face, but as she grabbed the mirror she almost dropped it in shock. She looked the same, for the most part, her light olive skin, freckles, dark red hair, and full, strong features, were all present, but her pupils were slitted, like, well, a dragon's, and her normal golden iris' were now the bright orange-yellow of fire. As a Bosmer, she already had slightly sharper teeth than the other races, but now they were serrated, and the canines were longer than she remembered.

 **Rinik pruzah, you are stronger now.** _Oh gods, someone's going to mistake me for a vampire and attack me._ **Nid, tell them you are Dovahkiin.** _Oh of course! Excuse me officer, i'm not a bloodthirsty blood sucker, i'm actually the ancient Dragonborn of legend! I do hope you understand and don't brutally slaughter me in the street please._ **Geh, practice is good.** _You're impossible._

She toed Lydia's prone form on the floor, trying to wake her up. The woman slept like a bear, and snored like one too. Lydia finally woke up when Madrigal pushed her onto her face, cutting off the woman's deep rumbling. Her first words upon waking were, "Yes, my Thane?"

"We're leaving. Get your stuff and let's go."

She hadn't had enough money to buy horses, and the damned carriage driver said Ivarstead was too difficult to reach with his cart, so that's how Madrigal found herself traveling in the wilds of southern Skyrim, following the wooden signs pointing to the small town. The road was difficult, full of winding paths and steep terrain, not to mention the sabercats and packs of wolves. At least the Rift was a pretty hold, abundant with lush maples, all in shades of yellow and orange, dappling the forest floor below in rich hues of amber as the sun set.

That night, she pitched their small leather tent underneath a sheltered copse of trees, lighting a fire as Lydia prepared the food. Sitting down with a sigh, Madrigal thought back to all that had happened.

Sure, the past three days had been the most hectic, confusing, downright terrifying days of her life, and yet… she wasn't upset. In fact, even past the whirlwind of ideas and emotions swirling about her head, she found herself at peace for perhaps the first time in her life. She wasn't about to go living as a pacifist monk in the woods but… some small part of her felt filled now. More complete.

She was however, slightly concerned about her new… features. Would they become more apparent with the more souls she took, or was this the limit of her transformation? She didn't want to ask Mirmulnir, her pride wouldn't allow it.

"Supper is done, Ma'am." She groaned as she stood up, making her way back to the campfire.

"Thank you, Lydia."

"Of course, Ma'am.

She may feel complete now, but she wasn't sure if she had ever felt lonelier.

Ivarstead was not an impressive town. Sure, the scenery was beautiful with it's cascading waterfalls and swirling river, but it seemed to be constantly in the shadow of the Throat of the World, never really being able to show off it's own positives with the fabled mountain standing right above it. The burned down house across the river and the whopping three buildings didn't help either.

The sun was still high in the sky, so she didn't bother renting a room at the quaint little inn, instead she kept walking, striding past the mill and tiny farmer house until she reached a small stone bridge leading to the beginning of the fabled path that led to High Hrothgar. With a sigh she began her trek.

Just a few steps into the trail she found an etched stone tablet, thick, and almost as tall as she was. On its worn surface read: _Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all of Mundus; Their word was the voice, and they spoke only for true needs; For the voice could blot out the sky and flood the land_

The tablet stopped there. More tablets must be dispersed throughout the path, telling the story of the voice. Her small party continued on, fighting off wolves, frostbite spiders and bears as they went up the ever ascending stairs. Finally, she saw the second tablet, a hunter kneeling by it, praying as he placed flowers in an offering bowl.

\- _Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no voice -_

As the steps became steeper and the temperature steadily dropped, more tablets appeared.

\- _The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in the Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts -_

The fourth tablet was hidden behind a bush, and took her a while to find whilst Lydia began to complain about the cold.

 _\- Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon war raged, Dragon against Tongue -_

She wanted to know more, and cursed the vagueness of the stones. Couldn't they have written the story on one single tablet?

Farther on, she saw the fifth nestled amongst an outcropping of rock.

\- _Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their losses were many-fold -_

"Ma'am, perhaps we should consider camping." With a shock, Madrigal realized that Lydia was right, as the sky was indeed beginning to descend over the mountain tops. How had time escaped her so? Besides, she wasn't very good at reading, or speaking, Modern Tamrielic. On top of that, the wind was positively _freezing_ , and she wasn't a hardy Nord like Lydia.

With a resigned huff, she began starting the campfire as Lydia prepared the tent. Ready to face another day in this strange world, that is, if she didn't freeze while she was sleeping.

The sun woke her as it streamed through the slit of her fur tent. At some point in the night it looked like her and Lydia had huddled together for warmth. With a grunt she shoved the bigger woman off and began dressing. Yesterday had been brutal on her bare feet, as tough as they were, so she wrapped them in furs before sliding her leather breeches on.

After several attempts, she managed to get Lydia up and dismantle the campsite, stopping to stare at the beauty of the scene around them, hazy early morning light washing the valley below them in a misty golden glow as the world woke up. She breathed in the snowy mountain air before turning on her heel and heading up the path once more.

The sixth stone lay next to a crumbling cairn with a tattered red streamer whipping in the wind. She brushed the snow and hoarfrost off of the cold tablet face and began to read.

 _\- With roaring Tongues, The Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this world -_

The seventh etching beheld a young woman in hide armour sitting in front of the stone, simply sitting there looking at peace.

"On your way up the 7000 steps? I confess i've never made the pilgrimage myself, but I enjoy the view." Madrigal nodded to the woman as she sat down, hissing as the wet cold sank through her pants. Damn Nords.

 _The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began his seven year Meditation; To understand how strong voices could fail -_

She stood back up, sending a light flurry of snow drifting. She nodded to the hunter, sending her a farewell as she continued.

Up ahead was a rocky overhang covered in snow, and _Divines_ did it stink. Suddenly, a roar shook the mountain side as a massive Frost Troll jumped down from the rocks, raising its arms in challenge as it charged them.

Lydia dashed forward, raising her axe as she bashed with her shield. Madrigal wasn't wearing steel plating and a shield like her compatriot, one hit from its massive muscle bound arms could spell disaster for her, so instead she kept back, and began firing balls of flame as the creature.

As soon as the fire touched the beast, it lit up like dry tinder as it bellowed in rage. The wounds that Lydia had delivered with her axe had all disappeared thanks to the Troll's superior healing capabilities, but the burn marks that spread across its body didn't seem to fade.

Grinning, she lobbed fireball after fireball at the Troll as Lydia kept hacking away at its beefy torso, red slashes spreading across its now steaming body.

Finally, the Frost Troll dropped dead, creating a puddle of blood in the muddy snow. She bent down to harvest its three eyes and meat, gagging at the awful stench of burnt fur. Shuddering she continued on, she almost passed the tablet hidden in a crevice.

 _Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The seventeen disputants could not shout him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World -_

High Hrothgar couldn't be much farther ahead. She hefted her pack and motioned for Lydia to continue, making an effort not to plummet off the slippery cliff face as they hugged the slim rock ledge. Damn it was cold. Winter was just a month or two away, she hoped she didn't have to make this trek again when it was truly cold, else she wouldn't make it to the top.

The rest of the trail passed in relative ease, it appeared no more creatures lived this far up in the clouds. There, perched on the side of the path lay the ninth wayshrine, snow piling up around it.

 _For years all was silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to High Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin -_

Tiber Septim, who founded the Septim Empire and was worshipped as the God-Man Talos, was Dragonborn like herself. How in the world did she get chosen as Dragonborn? She was just some nobody orphan from Valenwood. Akatosh better know what he was doing.

 **You are weak to fret so. Pull yourself together joor.** She was a bit surprised to hear Mirmulnir again, as he had been silent for most of the journey. _Is that supposed to reassure me?_ **Geh, now move before your body begins to freeze.** She just sighed at his reproachful tone, pushing her feet through the snow once more.

High Hrothgar was truly an impressive building. It was not as tall or ornately carved as perhaps Dragonsreach, but there was a solid, indomitable presence about the sturdy grey stones standing sentinel over the mountain side. The final stone lay just before the branching staircases that led to two bronze doors.

 _The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner Path; Speak only in true need -_

 **Kras yun rot. I hope that they do not make you abide by that foolish rule.** _They can't. Surely I have to use my voice to fight._ **Hin vat los ven. Do not be so sure.** He was being paranoid. She was sure that the Greybeards were a reasonable sort. Eagerly, she walked up the stone steps, pushing open the heavy metal doors.

Instantly she was greeted with sweltering warmth. The interior of High Hrothgar was dark, lit only by braziers and prayer candles. Lydia opened the door behind her, letting the biting wind cut through the monastery. They both stood there, appreciating the warmth as it washed over their cold bones. An old man in grey robes with a long, shaggy grey beard approached.

"So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." She bowed. "I'm answering your summons, _Atbal."_ He smiled warmly. "We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us Dragonborn. Give us a taste of your Voice."

She didn't want to hurt him and the other Greybeards, but if he asked for it, then he would receive. She sucked down a lungfull of air, then summoned her power.

She could feel the warmth bloom in her chest, rising up in her throat. "FUS." The ripple of energy flew from her lips, causing the old men to stumble backwards as ceramic pots went flying in the background, crashing loudly on the stone floors.

"It's you, welcome to High Hrothgar Dragonborn. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me Dragonborn, why have you come here?" She breathed deeply and met his pale blue eyes. "I want to know what it means to be Dragonborn, _Eshat._ "


	5. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller

The Greybeards told her of the language of Dragons, their histories, and most importantly, her role as Dragonborn. Supposedly the Dovah From, the Dragonkin, were only born every few eras, and were always a sign of great change, rebirth, or disastrous peril. They were Dragons trapped in mortal bodies, created by Akatosh himself to aid Nirn in it's darkest hour. Then there were the Thu'ums. Each Thu'um was composed of three words in the Dragon Tongue, and the more words a shout had, the more powerful it would become. The Greybeards taught her the second word to her force shout, Ro, or balance. The shout in total was called "Unrelenting Force" She also learned the first word to another shout, "Whirlwind Sprint", which, as the name suggested, sent her hurtling forward at a rate faster than the wind itself, startling her so bad that she almost got whiplash.

After all had been said and done, Arngeir praised her talent and sent her off to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, a relic lost to the Greybeards for ages. As she walked away from High Hrothgar, Lydia in tow, she looked back to see Arngeir, Borri, Wulfgar, and Einarth watching her as she retreated from the mountain retreat.

Being back on level ground after spending so many weeks on the mountain top left her feeling slightly woozy, as if the air had too much oxygen, leaving her body feeling too heavy for the wooded forests of Ivarstead. Despite this she kept pressing, traveling back around the Throat of The World until she reached the plains of Whiterun, where she stocked back up on supplies and informed Jarl Balgruuf of her journey and the Greybeards opinions of the Dragons returning.

Before long, she was out of the city gates and heading Northeast to Morthal, a small village that was located in the marsh lands. There, just aways away from the town, she would find a Nordic Ruin named Ustengrav, where the Horn should reside.

On the road to Morthal, they passed an old Nordic rune that looked big enough to be a city. Grey spires stretched into the snowy sky, once mighty pillars that now lay in ruins around old crypts and shrines.

 **Zu'u fraan los krosis. Bromjunaar, the once great city from where the Dovah ruled.** _This was a city?_ **Geh. The greatest of them all.**

Mirmulnir didn't say anything for the rest of the ride to Morthal, but she could feel his presence, observing what happened through her eyes. She actually felt a bit bad for him, but she ignored it.

Morthal was a dreadfully bleary town, even worse than Ivarstead. Surrounded by marshlands, skeletal trees, and an almost comically spooky fog, the entire village gave off a deserted feeling, despite the townspeople roaming in between the few buildings and shops.

Walking quickly, Madrigal ducked into the inn, only to find a boisterous Orc that insisted on singing the most gods-awful songs, and a weary, yet kind Redguard woman who owned the little inn.

"We don't get many visitors here, but feel free to make yourself comfortable" she said.

Madrigal simply nodded her thanks and rented a room for the night. She dropped her pack on the floor and fell onto the straw mattress, Lydia setting up her roll on the ground as she drifted off into sleep.

It was well into the middle of the night when she heard an ever so subtle _thump_ in the room over. She sat up in a flash, always the light sleeper.

Slowly, she slunk out of her bed and crept into the hall of the inn, easing open the door to the next room.

She was probably overreacting, and someone had fallen out of there bed or there was a rat infestation, but this town put her on edge, and her newly enhanced senses smelt blood.

Upon entering the room, she saw a woman leaning over a patron sleeping in their bed. Any would have assumed it was a whore leaving in the night, as many were wont to do, but this woman smelled of night, and her eyes glowed red.

Stealthy, Madrigal whipped back into her room, dagger in hand, prepared for the vampire to enter her room. She waited, and waited, and waited some more, but after an hour she deduced that the woman wasn't going to try her tonight. She climbed back into bed, her housecarl none the wiser, and slept with her dagger under the pillow, eagerly awaiting the dawn.

The sun was a beautiful sight after what she saw last night. She was determined to root out this vampire before it preyed on anyone else, including her. Then she wondered if her blood tasted any different from the other ilk.

That morning, she watched the small crowds, trying to locate anyone who was wearing heavy shawls and wrappings, alas winter was setting in, so most were wearing that anyways, and no one she saw seemed to be avoiding the light of the sun. She turned back, ready to go to the inn, when she saw a small burned down building hidden by the other homes.

Unable to curb her curiosity, she walked into the house, finding broken timbers and split, charred walls. It seemed like nothing was there, until she turned around and saw the pale blue visage of a young girl. She jumped in surprise, staring at the girl for a good minute. The child gave off an ethereal glow amongst the snow and blackened wood, where she sat, tracing lines in the soot as she hummed to herself.

"Um, hello, who are you?" She said soothingly to the child.

"Helgi, but father says i'm not supposed to talk to strangers. Are you a stranger?"  
"No _Chige,_ i'm a friend. Do you know what happened to your house?"

"The smoke woke me up. It was hot and I was scared, so I hid. Then it got cold and dark. I'm not scared anymore. But i'm lonely. Will you play with me?" The poor child didn't even know she was dead, and her heart ached for such a loss of young life. Perhaps this was connected to the vampire?  
"If I do, will you tell me what started the fire?"  
Her transparent face seemed to light up, "Okay! Let's play hide-and-seek. If you find me i'll tell you. We have to wait till nighttime though." She did _not_ like the sound of that. "The other one is playing too, and she can't come out until then."

"The other one? What do you mean?" Her face became conflicted. "I can't tell you. She might hear me. She's so close. If you can find me first, I can tell you." With that, she faded away into nothing.

Madrigal had a healthy suspicion of not who, but _what_ , set the fire, and once she got her hands on them, they were going to pay.

Darkness fell over the town that night, moonless and starless, as Madrigal rallied Lydia to go find Helgi. She retraced her steps back to the house, then began the hunt.

As a Bosmer who grew up in the woods, she was a superb tracker, and now paired with her extraordinary senses, she was like a bloodhound on a trail. She recalled the smell of night and decay that she had found on the vampire last night and began tracking it from the burned house.

The scent led her around the back of the building, into the dense woods that bordered the town. There, just a few paces away, was a small hill with a rocky side, making it like a natural ramp. On the crest of the hill, was a child's coffin, half dug out of the ground and covered in frozen dirt. Beside the coffin crouched a vampire, eyes the color of rust glowing in the night.

She gathered a ball a flame in her hand, before launching it at the vampire who screamed in agony as its dead flesh caught fire. The undead woman whirled, sending out a barrage of massive ice spikes in their direction. One hit Lydia, but it glanced off of her heavy plate armor, Madrigal however was not so lucky as the spike struck her shoulder, sending her down in a wave of pain. Lydia yelled a battle cry as she lunged at the woman, taking her down with one vicious swing of her warhammer. Lydia dashed over to Madrigal as she kneeled on the ground, helping her up as the latter attempted to use a flame spell to melt the ice spike out of her body.

Suddenly, she heard the voice of Helgi coming from the coffin. "You found me! Laelette was trying to find me too, but i'm glad you found me first. Laelette was told to burn Mommy and me, but she didn't want to. She wanted to play with me forever and ever. She kissed me on my neck, and I got so cold that the fire didn't even hurt. Laelette thought she could take me and keep me, but she can't, i'm all burned up."

Suddenly a man with wheat-blond hair dashed up the ramped hill, eyes wide with shock and grief as his torchlight took in the sight of the long dead woman. "Ysmir's beard! She's… She's a vampire!" Still trying to melt the ice in her arm, she turned to him.  
"What can you tell me about this woman?"

"Laelette? I thought she left to join the Stormcloaks. Ah! My poor Laelette!"  
"Did you notice anything strange before she left?"  
"She… she was spending a lot of time with Alva," He began hesitantly, "Yet just a week before she despised her. In fact, on the night she went missing, she was supposed to meet with Alva. Alva told me later that she never showed up. I never got to say goodbye."

"I think they may have met after all."  
He started. "You think Alva...but that means…" His face twisted. "Ye Gods! You think Alva is a vampire?" She sighed before growling at him. He took a step or two back. "It's a possibility we can't ignore." He shook his head in denial.  
"No! You're wrong. You must be wrong. Laelette may have met her fate out in the marsh. I refuse to believe Alva had anything to do with this. There is no way you can prove it to the Jarl!" She snarled as she grabbed the front off his shirt, yanking him down to her height to meet their eyes.  
" _Watch me."_ she bit out, before dropping him and walking back to Morthal, leaving the coffin behind.

She fully intended to search Alva's home, but not before bandaging and treating her wound, which was currently throbbing in pain.

When she reached the inn, she flopped down on her bed and began wrapping her shoulder, waiting for Lydia to arrive. She heard the door slam open, signaling her companion's arrival as the large woman trudged down the hall, then sat in the chair across from her, always keeping a respectable distance as ever. She sighed, then began explaining her plans for tomorrow.

Lydia would stay behind while She investigated Alva's house for evidence to her being a vampire, of which she was almost one hundred percent positive of.

Regardless, she couldn't just show up to the Jarl with no evidence, especially with her being a foreigner who didn't live in the village or elsewhere. She hadn't even met this Alva yet, or perhaps she had, the night that the patron had been fed upon. She recalled ebony hair and smooth, Nordic skin, but that was it.

Her plans laid out before her, she was able to shuck off her studded armor, frowning at the jagged hole in the shoulder. She would have to mend it eventually, but she hadn't the time now.

Crawling into her bed, she murmured her goodnights to Lydia, before using her magic to smother the small lantern on the table and adding a fire rune to the doorway in case some more… unwanted visitors came in the night. With that settled, Madrigal let herself drift into the darkness.

Dawn came, her rune still perfectly intact, smoldering softly in the morning light. She called back the spell, knowing Lydia would probably step on it and blow herself up in her morning stupor. She shook her said compatriot awake, and her plans taking root as the sun rose over Morthal.

Content that Lydia was fully awake and not prone to nod off, Madrigal left the inn, but not before asking the bartender where Alva's house was in the sweetest way possible without drawing any unwanted attention.

Now with a destination and a plan, she strode towards one of the modest houses by the murky waterfront, waiting for the guards to pass before sliding out her lock picks and deftly opening the lock. She had learned much of her stealth skills from the Khajiit caravans that would pass through her territory in the woods of Valenwood, and living a life of seclusion and jumping from tree to tree whilst hunting animals didn't hurt either.

She eased open the door, darting in quickly before anyone could see anything. She breathed a sigh of relief before noticing the man sitting at a table, watching the roaring fireplace with vacant eyes.

Unsurprisingly, he was a nord, clad in hide leather, his blond hair matted and dull, his fair skin deathly pale. Something was very wrong with him, she could smell it, like a smooth, soft veil of decay sliding around her - the very air itself - washing the dimly lit room in a oily, tainted feel.

Very slowly, she eased out her twin daggers, aware that any noise would send the guards running. She prowled over to him, bare feet silent on the wooden floor, she raised her blade to slice his throat, but received a nasty surprise when his head whipped around to lock onto her.

His eyes were blank, hazy blue voids that no longer saw, or maybe just didn't care. His gaze still tethered to hers, he snapped out of his chair far faster than any normal man, brandishing a poorly cared for iron sword, before charging at her.

Gods, he was fast, but most unnervingly, he was completely silent, which she supposed was a blessing, but it was still unnatural. All she had to do was be just as quiet, and twice as fast.

She twisted away from the husk of a man, arcing over his swinging blade with an elegant leap. Before he could charge again, she dashed forward, slicing him with her daggers. She tried to faint like she had before, but he was quick, grabbing her arm in a vice like grip. It was strong. Too strong for a mortal.

She snarled, cutting away at the his arm before he crushed her limb completely. Her daggers were finely sharpened steel, and though it didn't cut the limb away completely, it still sawed through a good half of the flesh before stopping at the bone. She gagged a bit, feeling her blade grind against his skeleton. She yanked her dagger out, watching as blood poured out of his arm.

He didn't look bothered in the slightest.

She swallowed her scream of horror, instead descending upon him in a wild flurry of blades. Once again she was reminded of how disturbingly quiet this whole fight was. Even when she finally managed to stab her wicked long knives deep into his torso, up into his heart, he only gave a contented sigh, a small smile playing on his lips as she slowly deposited his corpse into the floor. She examined his body, and sure enough, on his neck were two delicate puncture wounds. A vampire's thrall. With a start, she realized it was Hrogaar. She had seen him walking around the town before. How had no one noticed that he was this far gone?

Silent as a shadow, she descended to the basement level. At first it appeared completely normal, an apothecary station in a corner, a wine and bookshelf as well as a chest which must contain her belongings.

Then she saw the next staircase.

It led down, deeper beneath the house, into a dark room. This was going to be the most likely place to find evidence against Alva.

So she walked down the extremely suspicious stairs, getting colder as it went.

There at the bottom lay a coffin. Not a closed coffin containing the dead, but opened, lined with lush velvet, an old brown journal lay inside.

Heaving at the intense stench of rot, she reached inside, pulling out the journal. It stunk so strongly of vampire and spoiled blood that Madrigal thought she might faint. At least she knew that she would be able to smell any incoming vampire attacks even if Lydia couldn't.

She didn't bother opening it there, this was incriminating enough, and the less time she stayed in this festering hole, the better.

Gingerly stepping past Hrogaarr's body, she discreetly cracked the door ajar, scanning for guards before slipping out of the house, making her way back to the inn.

She wasn't quite sure what to do. She couldn't very well just give this to the Jarl, vampire or not she had broken into a citizen's home. She cursed herself for not thinking it through, but as she walked, she developed a new plan.

Idgrod Ravencrone was a strong woman, but her duties as the Jarl were taxing. She was not young by any accounts, yet as of late her onyx hair had more streaks of white than she previously recalled. Missing townsfolk and the Civil War looming on her doorstep made everything so much more difficult than it already was.

With a reserved sign, the proud woman sat down on her creaky bed. She was prepared to go to sleep before noticing a folded paper by her bedside.

Curious, she opened the note, in a flowing and elegant, if not slightly hectic hand, it read:

 _Dear Jarl Idgrod,_

 _In recent events I have stumbled across a most unfortunate truth in your town. One of your residents, known by the name of Alva, is what I strongly believe to be a vampire. I have not brought this to you in person as I did break into her home to find this evidence, but all the same I think you will appreciate the answer to her burned down the house. It was indeed Hrogaar, but he was under Alva's Thrall and thus had no true blame. Unfortunately I had to kill him, but know that he was not himself anymore. You'll find the rest of the details in Alva's journal._

 _Suna sou silaseli_

Idgrod set down the paper with shaking hands. As promised there was a small brown journal. Slowly the woman's gnarled, but sure hands, opened the book as she began to read.

Madrigal watched the procession from a rooftop, hidden from the guards torches as the wave of villagers rushed forth, carrying swords, pickaxes and any manner of tool they could get their hands on. The Jarl had done as she had hoped, sending the villagers and guards to fight the vampires.

In the journal, Alva had written of a large vampire lair in the swamps led by their master, Movarth. She was glad she had remained anonymous, not wishing to get in the way of their business. Besides, she still had to get to Ustengrav and find the horn.

With a sigh she nimbly slipped down from the thatch roof, calling Lydia to her side. That night, the dragon woman and her companion of steel walked into the dark marshes, away from the bobbing torches of the righteous villagers and the unearthly wails of vampires killing and being killed in the quiet of night.

Ustengrav had a chilly air about it. After dispatching the bandits in the front, then fighting past a few necromancers and Draugr, Madrigal estimated that they were about halfway through the dungeon, where she leapt from pillar to pillar in a massive cavern, shooting down the many skeletons that prowled below.

As soon as they were dealt with she slid down to the ground, making her way to the very bottom where an underground waterfall spilled into a pool, where to her delight, stood another word wall.

She dragged her fingers across the ancient scratches, not quite understanding what it said but absorbing the words anyhow. The shout filled her, _FEIM,_ fade. She didn't have an extra dragon soul on her, so there the word remained, like a thought that she had forgotten but could not replace.

After that she had to use Whirlwind Sprint, running past three strange boulders that glowed red when she passed, opening three metal gates in front of her. It took a few tries, but by sprinting past the boulders then shouting her way past the gates before they closed, she made it across. Strangely, when she stopped, the gates reopened, allowed Lydia to trot through, no shouting required.

The rest of the dungeon was fairly simple, until they reached a small cavern, spiderwebs covering every inch. She walked up on a small platform, suddenly, two Frostbite Spiders dropped a corpse from out of their sticky trappings, as soon as it hit the ground the tiles underneath it roared with flames, charring the already desecrated body to ash.

Not good.

Gingerly, she tested a toe on the plates, only to leap back as they ignited, singeing her skin. Apparently she was only resistant to Dragon fire. She summoned her courage, acutely aware of her bare, albeit calloused feet.

Then she started sprinting.

She had always been quite fast, and paired with her natural agility and honed stealth, it made her a formidable target. However now it was serving her in a different way as she dashed down the corridor, out running the flames that shot up wherever she stepped, charring her armor. Then she remembered Lydia.

She had forgotten about Lydia. The woman was already slow, and her steel armor and heavy weapons didn't help either. She was going to be roasted alive if Madrigal didn't do anything. But something held her back.

 **Rek los sahlo. Vodahmaan ek. If she cannot survive, she is beneath you.**

She grappled with her conscience for longer than she would have liked.

Sprinting forward, she pushed Lydia out of the way of a massive gout of fire. At the cost of a few burns and scrapes, she managed to haul her onto a large rock out the fire. She should have felt good for saving her but all she felt was annoyance. She glared at the woman, who seemed oblivious to her angry stare, when had she stopped caring for the value of life? She was becoming a monster, as bad as the dragons.

 **Mey. Rek los shalom. If you are truly dov, why do you let this mortal dictate your actions?** She said nothing, instead allowing him to sense her contemplative thoughts. He grumbled, but her consideration seemed to placate him.

Perhaps next time Lydia was in trouble, Madrigal would be too far gone to care, letting the woman meet her fate. It didn't bother her as much as it should have, and that disturbed her the most.

After killing more spiders and passing through the booby-trapped cavern, the end was insight. As she walked through the chamber, large, almost claw-like statue/pillars arched out of the water, lining the walkway in a dramatic fashion. But something wasn't right.

She could smell a woman, Breton, and they had been here recently, within two weeks at most. Jurgen Windcaller's tomb lay at the end, a stone hand reached upwards, holding the - a letter.

Rage ripped through her like wildfire. She hadn't a doubt that the Breton woman she smelt had taken it. She ripped the paper open, reading its contents.

 _Dragonborn,_

 _I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you._

 _A friend_

She was going to find this woman and kill her. Mirmulnir seemed to agree with her, his anger simmering just as intensely.

She eyed Jurgen's tomb. Strangely, it was engraved not with dovahzul marking, but daedric. She frowned.

Turning on her heel she strode away from the tomb, opening that pathway that would lead her to the surface, swiping any gold and jewels she saw on the way.

You might've noticed by now that some of the word's Madrigal speaks are not English, I figured that because she is a Wood Elf born and raised in Valenwood, that it would be probable that that's not her native tongue. Unfortunately my research couldn't find any words in Bosmeri, so I have fallen back using a combination of Dunmeris and Aldmeris. Not perfect, but it'll make do.


	6. A Blade in the Dark

She entered the Sleeping Giant Inn like a storm touching down on land. She must have looked a fool, standing in the doorway, breathing deeply, golden eyes burning with fury. There. Just across the room, she could smell the Breton woman, the very same. She growled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Delphine watched the newcomer slam open the door. She was a Bosmer, shorter than her Nord companion, with a leaner, more petite frame. Her face was covered, and she wore a hood. All that was visible were her molten fire eyes.

The woman inhaled, then suddenly her livid amber gaze snapped to Delphine. By the gods, had she just smelled her out? The woman didn't look happy to see her in the slightest.

The newcomer moved, no, _stalked_ towards her, every action smooth and precise, a well oiled machine of pure, raw power.

This had to be the Dragonborn.

They were face to face, the Breton woman able to look down on someone for once, but she didn't feel like it. This woman commanded the entire scene, and everything went quiet as she leaned forward and growled, "Attic room."

Her voice was surprisingly deep, not unpleasantly so, and it carried a husky sort of timbre, like it resonated deep from her chest.

Delphine sought to find her voice. "Well, we don't have an attic room, but you can have the one on the left." She was impressed with herself that she hadn't stuttered. The woman snarled, burning her alive with those magma eyes.

She walked into the room that the Breton woman had pointed to, where she promptly sat her ass in a chair and waited for the bitch to walk into her small space.

As soon as she walked through the door, she seemed to wince a bit, recovering her composure quickly. "Follow me." She whispered in her stately voice.

She waited until the woman's blonde ponytail vanished behind the largest room, counting to sixty before standing up and prowling into the other room.

There she stood, standing beside a wardrobe. "Close the door," she commanded. Madrigal narrowed her eyes. They stood like that, in a battle of wills, until the other woman sighed, walking over to shut the door. She turned back to the wardrobe, stomping irritably across the floor.

The woman opened a false back panel and stepped down into the wardrobe, stairs leading into a small room full of alchemy ingredients and weapons, a table with a map of Skyrim laid out across it. The woman braced her hands on said table before turning clever brown eyes her way. Her eyes were the only nice thing about her, a contrast to the lined skin and tight mouth.

"The Greybeards seem to think you're Dragonborn. I hope they're right."

"Give me the Horn."

The woman gazed at her with a reproached expression before sighing and pulling the Horn out of one of the nearby chests. It was a beautiful, curving black goat's horn, the lantern light reflecting off of its dull ridges.

As soon as it graced her palms she turned to leave, but the woman stopped her. "Wait."

She growled. "What do you want with me?" The woman sighed as if she was an unfortunate obstacle in her path.  
"I didn't go through all of this trouble on whim. I needed to make sure you weren't a Thalmor trap. I am not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I'm actually trying to help you. You just need to hear me out." Her entire tone was that of frustration, and it grated on her nerves in a way she wouldn't have thought.

"You better start explaining. Fast." The woman bristled at her words, already trying to talk back, but she silenced her with a growl. She coughed. "Like I said in my note, I've heard that you might be Dragonborn. I'm part of a group that's been looking for you, or well… someone like you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you."

"And how do I know that I can trust you?"

The woman laughed, "If you didn't trust me, you were a fool to come down here."

In a flash she leapt forward, pinning the Breton woman against a wall, hand around her throat. "If you think I would trust you blindly or believe for a second that you were stronger than me, then you're a fool."

She leaned back, releasing her hold on the woman, feeling shameful about her actions. She could feel herself slipping. How many Dragons would she consume before becoming one of them? Only time would tell. With that thought, she suddenly realized that the room was an inferno. Even some of the papers in the back were curling at the edges from the sheer amount of heat she was putting off. Lydia looked like she was boiling alive.

Abruptly she shut off any magicka that was being channeled, trying to cool her temper.

The woman was rubbing her throat, eyes angry and burning with strong dislike. "You tell me everything right now, or I walk." she bit out. The woman nodded reproachfully.

The Breton, Delphine, talked to her about the Dragons being resurrected, their burial grounds empty. The real question however, was _who_ or _what_ was raising them. Delphine thought it was the Thalmor, and as much as she personally disliked the faction of elves, she understood enough about Dragons and their lore to understand that they were proud, intelligent creatures who could, indeed, _would_ not be controlled by any lesser race. Yet she indulged the fanatical woman, if only so that she wouldn't lose her temper again and accidently hurt her.

Their plans were to meet at Kynesgrove to find a Dragon that Delphine suspected would arise there next, however Madrigal was a woman of her word, so immediately upon leaving Riverwood, she made the long trek up to High Hrothgar where she gave the Horn to the Monks. The journey was as arduous as she remembered, and her feet did not thank her, but she had to admit, she was happy to see the kindly old men again, even if three out of the four of them didn't speak at all.

Upon her return, Arngeir's eyes lit up when he saw her,a kind smile warming across his craggy face. He slowly stood up from where he had been kneeling in prayer, careful not to light his grey robes with the many candles illuminating the old stone floors.

"Ah! You've returned the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Well done. You have now passed all of the trials. Come with me, it is time for us to formally accept you as Dragonborn." She walked over to stand in the center of the pale diamond shape that lay set against the dark stones of the floor. She stood patiently, waiting for Arngeir to call the rest of the Greybeards to the middle of the ancient monastery.

He turned back to her once the others began to approach. "You are ready to learn the final word of "Unrelenting Force", "Dah', which means, "Push". Wulfgar leaned forward, whispering _Dah,_ against the faded stones.

A great _crack_ resonated throughout the building as the word glowed, then appeared on the floor in the language of the Dragons, which unfortunately, she still did not completely know, something to focus on when she had time, she supposed.

Once again she was revisited by that all too familiar knowing-yet-not feeling that she hated. Wulfgar opened his arms wide, and the channel of blue, orange, and red energy twisted and curled out away from him, similar to a Dragon's soul being absorbed. The knowledge of the word filled her as he dropped his arms, looking a bit wearier than before.

This was the third time that they had given her a shout like this, and she had to say, it was much easier than going out and killing a Dragon, but a small part of her missed the excitement and thrill of besting another of the Dov in combat. However she didn't get another voice in her head, so she supposed that that was one bonus.

"With all three words together, this shout will be much more powerful. Use it wisely." Arngeir stated simply.

 **Hmmm, I do hope we do not use this** _ **too**_ **wisely, niid? It would be most,** _ **moor,**_ **exciting to push someone off of a cliff.** Mirmulnir added slyly.  
 _I might just take you up on that proposal Mirmulnir_ _ **.  
**_ He chuckled. **Pruzah, it is a very good idea.**

The Greybeards each walked to a corner of the diamond that she still stood inside. Arngeir spoke once more.

"You have completed your training Dragonborn. We would speak to you. Stand between us and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled voice of the Greybeards, but you are ready." She stood there, bracing herself.

As if on cue, all four men raised their arms at once and began to speak.

" **Lingrah krosis saraan Strandul,"** Their combined forces were like a thunderclap. Dust rained down from the ceiling as the entire building shook. She herself was unbothered, but Lydia sat kneeling with her hands over her ears.

" **Voth niid balaan klod praan nau. Naal Thu'um mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok."** They dropped their hands as Arngeir stepped forward.

"Dovahkiin, you have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you." They began to disperse, walking back to their altars and books she dashed forward, stopping Arngeir.

" _Eshat,_ I want to tell you something." His face was quizzical.  
"What do you need, Dovahkiin?"

She breathed deeply. "I have, well, stumbled, across a woman who seems to know a lot about the Dragons returning. To get me to find her she stole the Horn from Jurgen's crypt and sent me on a goose chase to Riverwood. She also happens to have a map of the Dragon burial crypts and knows that one is in Kynesgrove. I wanted to tell you because I won't be here for a while, hunting down Dragons and what not." she said quickly. Truthfully she enjoyed the Greybeards company and tutelage, and was disappointed that she would have to spend time away. He studied her for a moment before narrowing his blue eyes.  
"What is the name of this woman?" She sighed.  
"Delphine."

His eyes widened in shock and anger. "Of course it is Delphine! She is one of the Blades. Do not trust her! They say that they serve the Dragonborn, but they will manipulate and try to control you. Heed my advice and stay away from that woman." His voice shook with poorly contained anger, his eyes livid, but as quickly as it came, his anger left. He sighed heavily, seeming to sag with the action. She thought that he had never looked so tired."Forgive me for my outburst, but I mean all that I say, this woman will cheat you."

"But I can't just leave the Dragon threat hanging. What do I do? Just walk away from a crisis?"

He frowned. "No, child. Work with her if you must, but take everything that she says with a grain of salt."

"Yes, _Es_ _hat._ " She didn't like the woman anyways, but Arngeir's vehemence startled her. Questions kept piling up without an answer in sight. With a hurried goodbye to the man, she left High Hrothgar feeling more confused than ever.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Kynesgrove was a small village outside Windhelm, a bleak, snowy, grey stone maze of a city older than Ysgramor's knickers. Why such a small village needed to be so close to the city, and a miserable one at that, eluded her.

As she approached with Lydia in tow, she heard roaring, like thunder rolling across the sky. A woman ran past in terror, screeching at her as she passed, "No! Don't go up there! There's a Dragon over the hill!" Then she was gone, bundling up her thick skirts as she sped towards the city.

The woman really needn't tell her where the Dragon was. The same pull and urge to dominate surged over her, stronger than ever. This Dragon must be exceptionally powerful, for she was mad with bloodlust.

She breathed deep, sucking down the scent of Dragon, blood, sweat, terror, and power. Raw, unflinching power. She grinned and began up the slope.

It was the black Dragon from Helgen.

Briefly she felt a twinge of fear and anticipation, but her frenzy efficiently drove away any unnecessary emotions.

"Sahloknir! Ziil gro dovah ulse!" He broke away, winging around the Dragon burial mound below. Lydia raised her bow, readying an arrow. With a silent hand, Madrigal pushed her weapon back down, eyes fixated on the ebony monster flying above them. The mound began to glow, ethereal blue and purple lights twisting into a steady, otherworldly beam that stretched to the heavens.

"Slen Tiid Vo!"

The world shook, the beam fading as the earth cracked apart, dirt spraying from the mound as a skeletal dragon emerged, his bone wings clawing at the ground, leaving furrows as deep as her waist in the cold soil. _Sahloknir._

Sahloknir raised his skull to the Dragon still hovering above them. "Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokrri suleyksejun kruzik?" he asked, his voice deeper than Mirmulnir's, but not quite the sheer avalanche of might that the black dragon sported.

"Geh Sahloknir, kaali mir." Sahloknir started glowing, flesh, blood, and dull copper scales rushing over his bones, covering him in a bright light. When it faded he was whole again, black claws and tail in all.

The black beast swung his jagged head towards her. "Ful, losei Dovahkiin? Zu'u koru nodnol dov do hi," He quirked his immense head. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Such arrogance, to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah." He looked away, turning his burning scarlet gaze to the dragon below. "Sahloknir, krii daar joore." Then he pumped his broad black wings and disappeared into the cloud cover.

Sahloknir roared, pedaling his wings to send him aloft. She was ready to take her anger out on this Dragon. How dare that ebony god say that to her? She was not Dov in body, but her soul sure as hell was. She didn't want to think about the state of her mind however. That was certainly a thought for another day.

Sahloknir dove from the sky, fire flooding out of his open maw to engulf everything below. With a cry Madrigal shoved both her and Lydia out of the way, the area where they had been standing was now black char and melted dirt. She couldn't help but be annoyed with Lydia the the moment, dashing away from the recovering warrior. He swooped down once more grabbing at her with his talons as he tucked his rust colored wings to his side. She ducked away just in time, formulating a plan as he flew around for another go.

When he was speeding towards her again, she stood steady. _Wait, wait, wait._

 _There._ He was almost upon her when she shouted, " _ **FUS RO"**_

If her shout had been powerful before, it was a weak imitation of the tide of pure strength that poured from her mouth. It felt like it was tearing her chest apart in the very best way. She still hesitated to use her full shout. Just those two words made her throat burn like fire and sucked all of the moisture from her mouth.

It must have been enough though, as Sahloknir screeched when he was stopped mid flight, his entire body shoved into the ground at a speed that dizzied her. Sahloknir looked up at her as soon as he stopped skidding over the Earth, not fear, never fear, but admiration and perhaps maybe even respect shining in his pale blue eyes. He raised his head and roared.

She roared back.

After that, he didn't pull any more cheap shots by trying to swoop on her, but he didn't go easier on her. He still had all the arrogance and pride of a Dragon, but he treated her as a genuine threat now.

She wasn't pulling any punches either. She didn't bother shooting him from a distance with a bow, Delphine had that handled, so instead she and Lydia dashed around him, the big woman occasionally flying backwards when she wasn't fast enough, Madrigal however, with her nimble feet and quick eyes, sprinted around him, dodging whatever strike Sahloknir's tail, wings, or teeth could lay on her. By the _Gods,_ she could live off of this. Her blood hummed with power and she felt alive.

They kept at that for a while, but she was growing exhausted, the constant jumping and slashing draining her. Delphine's arrows came slower and Lydia's strikes with her Greatsword weren't as strong. Nonetheless she pushed through. They could all sleep and eat when this Dragon was dead. She told them as much.

One of Delphine's orcish arrows struck him in the throat, earning her a scream of pain. He recoiled, whipping his head around with such a velocity that even Madrigal couldn't evade the gigantic horned head that smashed into her body.

The world went white as she flew through the air, landing in a heap beyond the fight. One of Sahloknir horns had pierced her side, blood pouring out of her in thick waves. She panicked a bit. She couldn't really feel the pain through all of her adrenaline, but her brain was going fuzzy as the world started to spin. She groaned, attempting to summon a healing spell, but she had never been good at Restoration, and her golden spell flickered and went out.

Delphine and Lydia were still fighting, good. She scrambled for a healing potion, praying that they weren't all broken, yes, she could feel one. Pulling it out she popped off the cork and chugged down the bitter tonic. She gasped as she felt her internal organs knitting back together, but no more.

She reached back into her pack, but felt nothing but broken glass shards. _Seriously? Now?_ She sighed, withdrawing a bloody hand, placing it over her still gaping wound. The hard way then.

Sahloknir seemed to have completely forgotten about her. She staggered forward, going as fast as she could before sliding in between his wings and legs, slashing upward with her steel sword, splitting his vulnerable belly and letting the blood and entrails spill out. She crawled out from underneath him just as he collapsed in a smoking pile.

With a shuddering gasp she watched as he began to smoke and disintegrate, turning into the flow of energy before her eyes.

This time, taking the soul wasn't quite as shocking, although she did have a terrible itching on her arm. Her wounds weren't healed, but she felt a bit better than before.

The glow faded from behind her eyes as she sighed. Opening them she saw Delphine and Lydia watching. The former stepped forward. "I can't believe it, you really are Dragonborn." She sounded immensely satisfied.

Then the world tipped and everything went black.

Her vision swam into focus as pain hit her like a punch. Her head ached and her torso felt like it had been ripped open. Probably because it had. Lydia's haggard face leaned over her, looking like she hadn't shut her eyes in weeks.

"Ma'am! You're finally awake. I've been watching you for three days now."

Wow. That wasn't creepy at all.

She grimaced as she sat up, bandages pulling against her stomach. Slowly she peeled up her shirt and began to unwrap her bindings. There wasn't any blood, but a shiny red scar was now situated just under her rib cage. It was spherical and jagged, like a mini crater on her body. She remembered getting shish kababed by a dragon horn towards the end of the fight.

With a groan she laid back down on the scratchy bed that she was laying on. "You're lucky to be alive. We had no way to tell how far the damage went, we just kept pouring healing potions down your throat and hoping for the best." Delphine was sitting in the corner of the room, cleaning her nails with a gleaming steel dagger. She craned her neck towards the older woman.

"So what's our next step?" she asked. Delphine chuckled. "Are you sure you don't want to wait until your body is done fixing itself?" In response, Madrigal grunted as she heaved Lydia's oppressive bulk off of her. "Yes." she firmly stated.

Delphine turned her cold brown eyes to the injured woman. In the early morning light that streamed through the frosty windows, they reminded her of cold dirt in a graveyard. "Then let's get started."


	7. Diplomatic Immunity

First things first, I am a dumbass. I accidentally posted the next chapter and completely skipped over this one, so sorry about that. Secondly, this might be a long chapter because I wanted to explore the actual 'soiree'. Obviously i'm only using one distraction, but I personally have never really used anyone but Razelan, spending a whopping thirty seconds in the actual party itself.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moving on her own still hurt, but she was determined to keep pushing forward, so Lydia rented a carriage to take them to Solitude. Delphine was convinced that the Thalmor were behind the dragon attacks, to which Madrigal still doubted, nevertheless she agreed to infiltrate the Embassy. Supposedly the Ambassador was hosting a party for all the rich tits in the province, although how she was supposed to fit in still eluded her. Fancy clothes and a posh demeanor could make her look nice, but she was still a Bosmer. Besides that, she didn't like showing her face anyways.

As the capital of Skyrim, or at least the official one by Imperial decree, it was a grand city with a series of rising towers and foreboding grey stone. Crimson legion banners hung from every terrace and tiled roof, ivy scaling the walls as hawks circled above in the clear blue sky. It was beautiful, temperate, and calm, yet it didn't have the same charm as Whiterun did, at least to her it didn't. Too… pompous she supposed for her more down to earth tastes.

She opened the door to The Winking Skeever, her eyes roving around the dim interior. By the tables a woman was singing some song that she didn't recognize as patrons drank themselves into a stupor. Delphine had told her that she had an associate waiting in the inn who would sneak her weapons and gear into the embassy, a fellow Bosmer named Malborn.

She found him dozing away in a dark corner, his tan fingers wrapped around a bottle of ale. With a sigh she shook him awake. His bleary amber eyes slid open.

"Wassat? You 'are for Delphi aye?" He groaned and leaned forward on the wooden table. He cast her an accusatory glance. "Eh, don look like much do ya? Hoped she picked the right' person. Well, give me all of ye valuables, anything ye can't live without I'll shneak into the embashy." he droned.

She silently handed him her pack. On her person she wore a simple peasant woman's dress and a shawl that covered her hair and most of her face. She also had knives tucked into her boots just in case of an emergency.

"I'll see you in the embassy then." He said with a slurred grumble. She just sighed and left the inn. 

She met Delphine at the stables, a short walk from the city gates and down the cobbled hill. There stood the Blades Woman, leaning against the windmill, arms folded and face set in her permanent scowl. She looked at her clothes, her forehead creases seeming to deepen.

"If you're infiltrating the Embassy, you'll need nicer clothes than that." she observed drily.

Madrigal frowned. "What's wrong with this one? It's a dress is it not?" she retorted, confused.  
Delphine chuckled. "Yes, but the Noblewomen wear different dresses." She motioned for Madrigal to follow her as she ducked behind the windmill. With a flourish, Delphine pulled something out of a tree where it had been hanging by a branch. She heard the rustling of cloth as a beautiful green dress was brought into the torchlight.

Delphine smiled a bit sheepishly. "I thought it would go well with your complexion." Perhaps Delphine might have some hobbies other than Dragon slaying and spying. "Come on, no time to waste, try it on!" the woman exclaimed with a fervor. She hastily shucked off her current dress, pulling on the proffered one as gently as she could. When it was over her shoulders Delphine began lacing up the back of the dress, pulling the bodice tightly around her body, squeezing her lungs as she went.

When she was done Madrigal glanced down at her new attire. The dark emerald cloth flowed around her body like a cloak, hugging her in all the right places before falling a bit more loosely around her legs, it had a deep, yet elegant neckline and a surprising lack of detailing, which she preferred. Delphine stepped back and analyzed her for a few moments before pulling out yet another fabric. How much did she have stashed here? It was a Sabre Cat fur, soft and warm as Delphine draped it around her neck.

"You realize you can't go barefoot right?" She glanced down at her naked feet.  
"Why not?" she argued.  
"Because this isn't Valenwood and the nobility aren't climbing trees. Put these on." She handed her a pair of soft leather boots. Grudgingly, she slid them over her feet. Her toes felt like they had been forced into a hot cage of leather as the boot slid over her callused heel. Briefly she wondered if singular appendages could get claustrophobia.

"This is terrible! Why do you wear these? What is the purpose?" she hissed.  
"The _purpose_ is that it looks nice, now don't complain or your cover is blown. And _no shawls_." she said as she snatched the offending article of of her head. She scrutinized her face for a moment before nodding. "Good. Not too many scars and your face is pretty. It'll do."

Madrigal was still grumbling as she waved goodbye to Lydia and climbed into the carriage that was waiting for her.

The Thalmor Embassy was located near the top of the mountain overlooking Solitude and the Sea of Ghosts. She supposed it was just like the High Elves to want to seem superior to everything. The Embassy wasn't really a building, or even a string of buildings, so much as it was a compound. A very nice compound to be sure, with slim wrought iron fences and candle lit interiors, but a compound nonetheless.

"Ah, a fellow latecomer to Elenwen's little soiree!" a slurred voice greeted her as she stepped down from the carriage. "And arriving by carriage no less! I salute you my good lady." a drunken Redguard sat hunched over on a rock, a half empty bottle of brandy dripping into the snow as he smiled blearily at her. "My lateness is due more to getting lost up this gods-forsaken mountain than any desire to arrive late. I prefer to arrive early, often the day before the party, so as not to miss out on any of the drinking." He groaned, tipping a bit on his rock before righting himself. "Well then, after you." he said as he stumbled to his feet. He leaned sideways, as if to lean on her, but she quickly sidestepped, letting him fumble around as she watched.

"Help a fellow out, eh?" She grudgingly reached out her hand and hauled him up. "By the divines you're strong! You sure you're a noblewoman?"  
"A merchant, to be specific." she answered with disdain.

"Aaaah, do you work for the East Empire Company like I do?" he asked.  
She grinned at his slack face. "How about you keep drinking that brandy, eh?" she digressed.  
He laughed harder than he would have sober, tipping onto her shoulder. "A woman of fine tastes! I think you and I will get along just swimmingly."

"Oh, i'm sure."

The inside of the Embassy looked just like any other building in Solitude, warm light and plush rugs to fill the shadowy rooms and cold stones, except every inch was covered in Aldmeri heraldry. Each yellow banner and golden eagle she saw put a sour taste in her mouth. And Elenwen. Elenwen spoke with a voice that reminded her of dripping venom disguised as honey. Her greeting felt more like an interrogation than a hello. A very formal, polite interrogation.

She made eyes with Malborn, who was serving at the bar while she mingled amongst the guests, trying to figure out a distraction so they could both slip into the kitchens unnoticed.

As she strode through the small crowd, sipping her wine as she went, she saw a reedy looking nobleman with straw blonde hair and a wispy mustache leering at a serving girl with a platter. Concerned, she took up residence in a dark corner, watching it play out.

"There's a likely looking filly, even if she is an elf. You there, Serving Girl! What's your name, dear?" The Bosmer woman raised her head politely. "Uh, Brelas, Sir. Did you need a drink? Something to eat?" He grinned wolfishly at her. "No no, that's not what i'm interested in right now. I just wanted to get a better look at you. I like what I see, my dear. And believe me, I don't say that to everyone. I'm very discriminating when it comes to the female form." The poor woman shuffled uncomfortably on her feet. "Uh, thank you sir. Was there anything else I can get for you?" "Oh… not at the moment. Maybe later. Don't go far." She looked down. "Yes, sir."

She walked up to the man, who was currently smoothing his rich blue cotton jacket. He watched her approach. "Did you see that Serving Woman? I hear Elf women are insatiable. I see the same goes for you. Why, if you weren't one of Elenwen's guests, I might just consider you too. Alas, I'll settle for the wench. But let me know if you're interested." He winked at her as his eyes roamed over her shapely figure. _Ugh, no thanks._

"Well, maybe I can talk to her for you, see if she's interested?" "Hmmm, she would have no reason to refuse me of course, but go right ahead lovely." She could feel him watching her backside as she walked away, making her wish that the Sabre Cat fur went lower. Luckily, the serving woman, Brelas, was still situated in the same corner as before, so she didn't have to walk far.

She cleared her throat. "The fellow over there asked me to talk to you…"

"Ugh, Erikur, right? I could tell what he was after. I hate working at these parties. Some of the guests are nice, but there are always a few like Erikur. Please tell him to leave me alone. Politely. I'm sure you'll have a better time getting through to him than I will. Hopefully he doesn't pounce on you too." With a sympathetic nod she left the woman in search of Erikur.

He was on his third cup of mead when she found him. "Have you talked to Brelas yet? I'm not a patient man, you know."  
 _  
Evidently._ "Yes, she, uh, wants you to leave her be."

His face puffed up and became red with anger. "What? The little tease! Leading me on then turning cold at the last minute. I don't think so." Eirikur marched over to the woman with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "So, you think you can toy with me, is that it? No, my dear. I have my heart set on you and I always get what I want." Brelas cowered as Madrigal tried to put distance between the two, but to no avail as Erikur put his hand on her arm in a vice grip.

"I, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression earlier. I meant no disrespect."

"Oh, don't worry. I'll let you make it up to me. Now, where can we go for a little privacy, hmm?" Brelas took on a panicky tone as she pried his arm off of her. "

No, i'm sorry, but I can't go anywhere with you. I won't. Please, let me get back to my duties." She hurriedly backed away, moving towards the center of people.

Erikur swelled up like an angry cat before roaring at her. "Don't you dare walk away from me you slut! Don't you know who I am?" he cried.

"Please sir, leave me alone!" At this point the entire party was watching the procession, Brelas, as if sensing this, began putting her arms up in a defensive, pleading manner as Thalmor guards started walking towards her.

"Now you're going to be sorry you crossed me. Elenwen! This serving girl has been throwing herself at me in the most disgusting manner."

The ambassador slunk out of the shadows like a wraith. "Is that so, Erikur? And you with such delicate sensibilities. It must have been most upsetting."

"I demand that you have this wench removed from my sight at once!" he spit furiously.

Elenwen sniffed. "Well, whatever the truth of it, i'm sure a few words with Master Rulindil will have a salutary effect. Take her downstairs."

Brelas struggled in the guards grasps as they latched onto her. "No!" The guards saluted stoically as they began dragging her backwards. "Mistress Elenwen! It's not true! I did nothing!" She turned pleadingly to Madrigal. "Ma'am, you must tell her! You don't know what they'll do to me! Please!" But before she could do anything, Brelas was pulled behind a door that shut firmly behind her.

Next to her Erikur huffed. "Well, i'm glad that little unpleasantness is over." She just stared at the door that had closed off Brelas' screams in calmly masked disbelief.

-

She could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Jarl Balgruuf sitting at a chair. She sat down next to him, waiting for him to recognize her. He was one of the few people in Skyrim who knew her face and Dragonborn status. He looked up, his craggy face splitting into a broad grin. "Dra-"

Quickly she mimicked for him to be quiet. "Let's just say that i'm a little undercover right now." She furtively glanced around, checking to make sure that no one had heard him.  
He leaned back in his chair, watching her with those crystal blue eyes. "Aaah, I see." Suddenly his face looked conflicted. "Forgive my terrible manners, I never actually got your name." he confessed.  
She smiled warmly at her friend. "Madrigal." she stated simply.  
He laughed. "Good, an elven name I can finally pronounce." His cheery air died as he glanced around the hall.

"This gathering is nothing more than a boast. The Thalmor are reminding us that we're at their beck and call." He growled bitterly.  
She sighed as she glanced around. "You're not wrong about that." she divulged.  
Balgruuf looked at her, then leaned in close. "You obviously don't like the Thalmor, but isn't Valenwood part of the Dominion? What'd they do to you, eh?" he asked in a whisper.  
"That's… complicated. And I don't have a whole lot of time, but I can make it short." she stressed.

"I'm willing to listen." he said, spreading his arms wide for emphasis.

She hummed, thinking as she swirled her drink. "Let's just say that I was there to witness of of their political 'purges'" She sighed deeply before continuing. "Personal vendetta aside, I also think that they're too ambitious and cold-hearted for their own good. They spell bad news for Tamriel."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I think you're right." Balgruuf admitted solemnly.

She looked up over her glass. "I thought you supported the Empire?" she inquired.

"Aye, that I do. The Empire, not the Thalmor, or the Dominion. When they defeated us in the Great War, it was a disgrace. Then they had the gall to impose laws and decrees, reducing the Empire to a laughing stock." He sighed heavily and leaned back in the chair, crossing his wiry arms in frustration.

"Madrigal, whatever you're going to do tonight, I want you to make it count. Not just for yourself, but for Skyrim as well."

His words echoed in her head. She had never considered what it would be like to fight for something, or even someone, other than herself.

 _For Skyrim as well._

She downed the rest of her drink, slamming the tankard onto the table. For the first time, her role as Dovahkiin weighed on her. She wasn't upset with her power, yet the final realization that she was never going to lead a normal life, that she would constantly be fighting for causes as a living symbol was striking. Her stomach went cold at the thought.

She met Balgruuf's icy gaze with determination. "I can't say that i'll destroy them tonight, but I'll give it a good try. Now, if you excuse me, I have some rather delicate business to attend to."

She stood from her chair, smiling darkly at her the Jarl as he raised his glass to her in mock salute. She turned her back to him, eyes searching for Malborn.

She was ready to cause that distraction.

-

The drunk, Razelan, was sitting dazed on a bench, alone and looking as sour as the alcohol he held. She sat down next to him, a goblet of Colovian Wine cradled gracefully in her slim fingers. He cast his bloodshot gaze her way, brown eyes honing in on her drink.

"What does a fella gotta do to get a drink around here?" he inquired gruffly. She motioned to his Brandy bottle. "Don't you have one?" He scoffed, then tipped the bottle upside down, a tiny trickle of drink slid down the neck before dripping on the floor. "Drier than the Alik'r this is."

She hummed thoughtfully, watching the other guest sway to music as she swirled her goblet. "Well, I must say, this wine was rather expensive, yet I find I have no taste for it. It would be a shame for such a thing to go to waste." At the sight of his hungry expression, she dropped her voice to a whisper and purred to him, lips curling up, "Would you like some?"

She held the drink out, a little surprised when his dark fingers wrapped around the cup, pulling it away as he began chugging, dark liquid sliding down his stubbly chin. With a gasp he came out of his cup for air, wiping his finely embroidered woolen sleeve across his unkempt face. "Ah, the one generous soul among all of these pinch pennies and lick spittles!" he raved blithely. The end of his sentence was almost a shout, and she winced as some other guests cast strange looks their way. "If there is anything, and I mean _anything_ , you need my dear friend, do not hesitate to ask." he affirmed strongly.

"Well, as it happens, there is someone I would like to meet and I need a… distraction, if you will." she appealed.  
He squinted at her. "You're not planning on meeting that Eirikur guy are you?"  
She made a rather unladylike retching sound. "Gods no, he doesn't deserve me."

Razelan roared with laughter, and she laughed a bit herself. She had forgotten that drunks could be fun sometimes. "Well then, is that all? My friend, you're looking at a master. Stand back and watch my handiwork." He stumbled to his feet, green tunic stained with wine as he made his way to the center of the room. He raised his glass, calling for the room to be silent. Once their eyes were off her she slipped behind the bar with Malborn, who was thankfully sober this time.

"I'm ready, let's go."

He nodded, sliding back to unlock the door behind them. As soon as it swung open, they quickly darted inside.

Razelan's muffled voice crept past the thick stones. "I would like to make a toast to our beautiful Ambassador, Elenwen!" Malborn shoved her into the kitchen, closing the thick wooden door, shutting of the speech.

There, a half baked loaf of bread in her hands, stood a middle aged Khajiit, staring in shock. Her sandpaper voice whispered heatedly in the dim room, "Malborn, you know that I do not like strange smells in my kitchen! It is against the rules!" she fumed.  
Malborn looked at her coolly. "Rules, was it It's Ts'vanni? I don't remember eating Moon sugar as being part of the rules."  
She hissed in frustration, her gray tail thrashing, "Fine, I saw nothing, but it's your fault if she's caught!" Malborn just harrumphed and shoved her into a spacious closet room.

"Your gear is in that chest. I have to go back now, lest they notice my absence. Good luck." And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him in a click.

Quickly she stripped off her dress and braided her hair back. Pulling out her pack she stuffed the garment inside as she fished out her armour. That thing was too expensive to waste.

When her studded imperial armor slid over her head, she breathed a sigh of relief. She strapped her bow and twin daggers onto her back, leaving her gloves off so she could use magic, and stealthily opened the door in front of her.

It was a short, but narrow hallway with an open door to her right, through which she could hear two Altmer talking. Discussing guard rotations and their distaste for the Justicars.

She grimaced. Sometimes it was hard to remember that these were people too. She hated them, definitely, but she had enough sense to know that not all of them could be bad. If she had servants clothes on her, she might have considered just walking past them, disguised in plain sight. Clearly that wasn't an option anymore.

She lit her hand in a pulsing ruby light, her fury spell glowing softly in her hand, it's dim red glow casting ominous shadow in the dark corridor. With a flick of her wrist, a crimson bolt shot outwards, seeming to melt into the nearest unknowing guard, sinking past the woman's golden armor.

Suddenly, the woman stiffened, then pulled her finely engraved elven axe as she rushed at her fellow employee, burying the gleaming, diamond bright edge into his breastplate. With a shocked gasp and a strangled moan he lurched backwards, pink spittle bubbling at his thin lips. The bewitched guard stalked forward with a terrifying stillness before sending the axe down on her former friends neck, golden-red blood spraying outwards onto the surrounding tiles. Illusion magic could be so wonderfully effective.

The Justicar, who must have been residing upstairs, came down quickly, staring in shock at the Guard's blood-splattered face and the crimson patchwork that crisscrossed the grey floors. Without hesitation, he sent an erratic, glowing stream of electricity in her direction, scorching the woman inside of her armor as she crumpled. The Justicar, obviously disturbed, spun on his heels, black and gold Thalmor robes flying, as he marched to the exit, opening the door to a snowy courtyard outside, proceeding to shut it as he left.

She waited for him to return, staring at the black soot marks on the ground. She was best at flame magic, but she wasn't terrible at shock spells, yet she had no such luck in the frost department. Perhaps her small talent in electricity laid with its similarities to fire. Hot and erratic. All of the Justicar mages used shock spells, which were extra effective against other magic users, and if she was using magic close quarters, she might want to try it.

For a few minutes, she sat crouched, playing with the little static webs that ran up and down her fingers, trying to get a feel for the wild spell. Fire was unpredictable, yes, but it obeyed certain laws of physics, electricity however, was something else entirely. Going wherever it wanted to, sparking in different directions and leaping from opponent to opponent. Perhaps it said something about her personality that her given Destruction spells were shock and fire. All mages could use every school of magic, though they usually just specified in one or two. Destruction however, most could only use one element of the three. Especially talented or rare mages could use two, but never three. She had never heard of three. The most common combination was shock and frost, why, she didn't really know. Frost and Fire weren't that uncommon either, but she preferred to stay away from those mages, conflict in personality made some unpredictable people. She hated unpredictable people. As far as she could tell, she was the only, or one of the few, that could use fire and shock. Nothing to temper her. Fitting, she supposed.

After waiting for a while, no one came in, so she pushed herself off of the freezing floor and crept into the room, magic and daggers at ready. When no one came to greet her, she snatched a hunk of bread from the bar. Her newly sharpened canines ripped through it easily as she chewed. Maybe she could get some molar upgrades as well.

Slowly she opened the door that the Justicar had exited from, the cold hitting her like a punch as snowflakes shot past in the wind as a blizzard began to form. Through the flurry of snow, she could make out multiple guards and two Justicars patrolling the area. She knew all of them could do some magic, Altmer were one of the few races, along with Bretons and Dunmer, in which almost every child was born with magical ability. Bosmer, Orcs, Nords, Khajiit, Argonians, and Redguards almost never had magical children however, and powerful ones were even more rare.

With a sigh she summoned a Flame Atronach, an ethereal floating woman made of flames and black igneous rock, who gracefully floated above the ground, doing little twirls and flips. Concentrating her will, she sent the magmatic creature into the center of the courtyard, drawing the attention of the guards as she slunk around them. With a thought, she sent the atronach into a fury, shooting fireballs from its hands as the Thalmor surrounded it. One guard was smarter than the rest and began searching for the atronach caster whilst she made her way to the small building situated in the middle, cursing herself for not casting it further away, or even drinking an invisibility potion as she picked the lock.

Just as she opened the door, her atronach gave out, disappearing into a massive explosion that thawed the snow around it as the Thalmor flew backwards with the force. Clicking the door behind her, she saw three people talking. Two Thalmor, a Justicar and her guard, as well as some noble or servant that they were arguing with.

Shouting would call attention from the outside, and she didn't want to draw this out any more than she had too. She readied her shock spell.

 _Please let this be strong enough._

She spread her palms out, letting the electricity run through her as blinding purple, blue and pink currents hit the servant/noble in the back, sending his entire body into a seizure. The Thalmor began to shout but soon they too were consumed in the rippling wave of energy, thrashing around, dropping to the floor as their armor began to smoke and char. The human was miraculously still alive. He was probably not a mage, then.

Walking over to him, she saw horrific webbed burn marks that had crawled their way up his jaw, his skin raw and steaming. He let out a moan, bloodshot brown eyes pleading with her to end it. She watched him for a few moments, the way he writhed on the ground, how he shook violently and the sweat on his brow clung to his face. Eventually she leaned down and slid her knife across his neck. Mortality was a fickle thing, how lives came and went in this world. She turned away from his charred corpse and didn't look back at it.

She found a study-like area with display cases full of valuables and enchanted items. She broke into every single one of them, shoving their contents into her pack as she went, snagging some books as well..

She walked up a staircase to yet another small office space. This one was plainer, a chair and a desk with books and accountings. But behind the desk was a small chest of fine make with an outrageous lock on it.

She didn't bother to pick it, instead wrapping her fingers around the lock and squeezing, applying heat until the metal oozed out between her hands. Inside were two red journals.

 _Thalmor Dossier: Delphine_

 _Status: Active (Capture or Kill), High Priority, Emissary Level Approval  
Description: Female, Breton, mid 50s_

Background: Delphine was a high-priority target during the First War, for both operational and political reasons. She was directly involved in several of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades within the Dominion. She had been identified and slated for the initial purge, but by bad luck was recalled to Cyrodiil just before the outbreak of hostilities. During the war, she evaded three attempts on her life, in one case killing an entire assassination team. Since then, we have only indirect evidence of her movements, as she proved extremely alert to our surveillance. She should be considered very dangerous and no move against her should be made without overwhelming force and the most careful preparation.

Operational Notes: She is believed to still be working actively against us within Skyrim, although we have no location on her. Assumed to be working alone, as no other Blades are known to be active in Skyrim, and she has in the past avoided contact with other fugitive Blades for her own security (one of the reasons she has so far evaded elimination). Her continued existence is an affront to all of us. Any information on her whereabouts or activities should be immediately forwarded to the Third Emissary.

Nothing new there. She knew Delphine was an Ex-Blade, and that the Thalmor hunted her. Her eyes were drawn to the second book.

Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak

Status: Asset (uncooperative). Dormant, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran

Background:

Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact.

Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.

She dropped the book to the floor, disbelief and anger coursing through her veins. Ulfric was a ploy. This entire war was just a political move by the Thalmor, who knew less about the dragons than even Delphine did. This was all for naught.

She shoved both of the Dossiers into her pack, cold sweat running down her back as she stood from her stooped crouch. Thalmor behind the dragons her ass, she was going to beat Delphine when she returned. If she escaped alive, that is.

Swiftly she exited the office, going back down the staircase where she picked a heavily barricaded door, the scent of blood and fear on the other side. Torture rooms.

It was dark, and she ducked down lest her glowing eyes gave her away. Down below her, three cells were lined up, in one was a scrawny Breton man wearing rags, he was slumped over, his wrists secured in shackles whilst he dangled limply from the wall. A Justicar stood over him, electricity sparking in his hand.

"Now, we can do this the hard way, or the easy way. Your choice." The elegant voice echoed around the large wooden room. The man weakly raised his head, dirty blond hair and a scraggly beard obscuring his badly beaten face.

"I've told you everything I know." He pleaded with a raspy throat. "I have nothing to do with them."  
The Justicar pursed his yellow lips, motioning to his guard. She thudded over and raised a barbed whip, face expressionless as she brought it down with a crack. He screamed, unearthly wails that were punishingly loud to her sensitive ears rang through the space. She slowly began to creep down the shadowy stairs. Eventually the soldier stopped. "Have you reconsidered your ill advised choice now?" sneered the Justicar.  
"I told I don't know anything!" he screamed desperately.  
"Very well." he equivocated darkly. The Justicar then proceeded to fill his body with lightning.

Quickly, she strung her bow, shooting an arrow into the soldiers exposed neck, who, with a gurgle and a soft groan fell to the floor. The Justicar, distracted by his torturing, didn't notice the sound of her hitting the ground. She always preferred arrows to magic when it came to stealth, as an enemy wouldn't miss an arrow, but a massive flaming ball of magicka was probably more obvious.

She stalked up behind the man, palming her twin daggers. She didn't want to touch him, lest she was electrocuted as well. The Justicar finally stopped, taking ragged breaths as he drew a hand through his hair. He breathed once, twice, but before he could breathe a third, she leapt up, slashing his throat in one fluid movement. He dropped to his knees, blood spraying from his neck as he frantically tried to stop the blood with his fingers. She thought the prisoner would be more bothered by the blood, but at a glance she could see that he was unconscious.

She unshackled his wrists, then dragged him out of the cell, laying him against the wall. His bare chest was bloody and he had sores everywhere. She lit her hands in a glowing healing light as she hovered her palms over every wound.

When he was mostly healed she pulled back and began rifling through the torturer's chest that sat beside a rickety desk. Guess even the Thalmor didn't bother funding their penal systems.

Inside she found the final Dossier. Curiosity took hold of her and she opened the leather embossed cover to read its contents.

Content  
Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Male, Nord, late 70s

Background: Esbern was one of the Blades loremasters prior to the First War against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file had remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been called to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.

Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragon lore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of Dragons which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to the dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons' return.

We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible is ongoing. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

So there was a former Blade in Riften. Delphine said she was one of, if not the last Blade in Skyrim, so she must not be aware of this man, or at least didn't know that he still lived. In the corner of her eye a figure moved.

She whipped her head around, locking onto the motion. It was the prisoner. She remained tense, waiting to see what he would do.

When he saw her, he shot backwards, putting as much distance between them as he could. She realized that she must look terrifying, face covered, hood drawn with glowing eyes and blood splattered armor, watching him with predatory stillness. Slowly she sat backwards, easing her body onto the floor.

"I'm not going to hurt you." she consoled him.

He quivered, thin chest shaking with sharp breaths. "How can I trust you?" he blurted.  
She shrugged. "Well, for one, I healed you. You're welcome."  
He glanced downwards, staring at his unblemished skin for a few moments. "W-Why are you here? What do you want?"

She slowly rose, holding a hand out to him. "Short story: I want answers, and I thought this place would have them. Unfortunately, it appears that my informant is, biased, shall we say." He nodded slowly, still looking confused as she locked her hand around his forearm. Suddenly, he winced, yanking his arm back.

She immediately let go. "Are you still injured?" she asked, worried.

"No it's fine, you just have sharp nails." he remarked, and sure enough, he had five little spots of blood dotting his limb. Quickly she examined her hand. It looked like it normally did, but upon closer inspection she saw that her right nails were indeed sharper, and not in the human way. Her left hand however, was fine. She vaguely remembered her arm itching furiously when she had absorbed Sahloknir's soul.

Her breath shuddered. She was going to become more draconic with every dovah soul she ate, and this was only the beginning.

The next time she hauled him up, she used her left hand.

Once he was up and moving, the man crept over to a bloody trapdoor that sat beside the cells. "I always see them dragging bodies through here, it must lead to an exit, but it needs a key, and I don't know where they keep it." Of course it needed a key. She searched around a bit, but found nothing. Just as she was about to start backtracking, she heard footsteps approaching from where she had first entered from. She shoved the man behind a wall, mimicking for him to be silent as she crept back up the staircase, daggers drawn and ready.

The door opened with a bang. Two Thalmor soldiers and a smaller figure. The scent, she recognized it. It was Malborn. He was in shackles, sweat dripping from his sharp face, his caramel skin pale.

"Show yourself and we won't hurt your little friend here. We know he's a spy, there's no use hiding from us." His voice was so confident, as if he thought she would risk her mission for some bartender who wasn't a good enough spy to stay hidden. Almost lazily, she flicked her wrist, the dagger flipping blade over hilt until it lodged into his neck. The guard fell, crying out he he began to bleed out onto the floors. The second guard raised her sword, making to cut Malborn to ribbons. She shot forward, burying her second dagger in between the chinks of the woman's armor, sliding up past her ribs into the lung. With a sharp twist of the steel, she ripped it out, turning to Malborn as the soldier fell.

"Thanks. Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life." he said with contempt. She could feel Mirmulnir and Sahloknir raging inside of her, begging for her to end him for challenging her. The Dragons swirled around her mind, coiling like a vice, whispering in her very heart to take his life, let his blood be payment for his ineptitude. She found that she didn't have enough will to fight them. With a snarl she bunched the collar of his shirt in her hands, bringing his face close to her sharp teeth.

"I didn't do this. This is your fault for failing your task, which was to _stay hidden."_ She could smell the fear and anger coursing off of him, filling her nostrils and coating the back of her throat.  
He shook trembled weakly, "I can't work for you, or them again. I can't do this! It's too dangerous!"

She let go of his shirt, letting him stumble backwards. She watched him with cold eyes, features hidden by the shadows. As if sensing the tension, Malborn shuffled nervously.

"That's unfortunate to hear Malborn." She was taken aback by how low and soft her voice sounded, even to her ears. "You know full well that I can't leave any loose ends." She brandished her bloody weapon, some dirty, dark part of her relishing in the fear on his face. Stepping closer she whispered in his ear, a quiet murmur like a lover, "You know too much." His eyes widened as she thrust the dagger into his gut, a panicky sob of pain and shock spilled from his lips as he crumpled against her. Softly, she laid him down on the floor, his mouth still opening and closing like a fish. She grabbed her other knife from the Thalmor's neck before leaving him to bleed out, not looking back at the failed spy as she made her way down to the man.

 **Well, well, Dovahkiin. I did not expect such brutality from a joor.** Sahloknir commented cooly. _  
Finally joining the party, Sahloknir?  
_ **Make no mistake joor, Alduin is still my rightful Thuuri. You are a pretender, yet an impressive one as you defeated me. Ful los ven.** he added smugly. _  
This "pretender" is going to steal your Thuuri's soul.  
_ **You are weak next to him.** he protested.  
 _We'll see about that._

Eventually she was really going to have to figure out how to make these Dragons learn their place.

Mirmulnir began talking as well, starting up a buzzing cacophony in her brain. She rubbed her temples, trying, and failing, to shut them out. She walked past the cells. Then stopped.

There was a woman in there. Not just any woman either. It was Brelas.

Quickly, ignoring the voices in her head, she began to pick the lock. Once inside she shook awake the unconscious woman. Upon seeing her, Brelas' eyes flew open in shock, she opened her mouth to speak but Madrigal silenced her, pulling her face cloth down. Her face filled with recognition and gratitude, questions dancing across her features as she stood up, dusting off her grimy dress and apron.

Silently she lead her out of the cells to the trap door, and with one smooth movement, slid the key into the lock and heaved the trap door open, waving them through. "Wait for me on the other side." she whispered. "Don't run unless I'm with you."

Once they had disappeared into the dark, she gave the bloody room a once over. The Thalmor had a real task at hand when they had to clean this room. With that thought in mind, she smirked as she ducked down under the hatch, catching up to Brelas and the man.

They were standing at an icy subterranean ledge, a natural pit of some sort lay out before them. Even before she asked the two of them, she could smell the creature. There, stomping about, was a huge Frost Troll, bloody snow spattered around it. Behind the creature she could see a large crevice in the wall where light and snow were streaming in. They just had to get past the animal.

The man fidgeted next to her, eyeing the exit. His pale eyes flitted to the troll, then the blood, then to the snowy forest beyond. Suddenly, his body lurched forward as he jumped from the ledge, landing on the hard ground below before she could grab him. She cursed profusely as the troll turned it's beady eyes towards him, raising it's hairy arms in challenge as it roared. She felt Brelas grab onto her arm as it charged towards the man who began to make a mad dash for the exit.

Quickly Madrigal dropped down, blasting the troll with flames as she did. It screamed in pain, turning it's attention to her. She ducked down as it swung at her with its meaty fist. She could feel her energy flagging as she dodged a second time. The past few hours were catching up with her as she began to slow. Her magicka pools were all but gone, and she had as much stamina as a newborn foal. She had to end it quick.

When the next swing came, she wasn't fast enough to move out of the way as the beast caught her in the midsection, sending her flying. Her body hit the stone wall with a crack, pain shooting through her body as she slid to the ground. With bleary eyes she saw the troll approaching. The Man had taken his chance and escaped, but Brelas was still watching from the ledge with scared eyes.

"Brelas! Run, I'll be fine, just go!" she cried desperately. Thankfully, the girl was a survivor, and knew when to cut her losses. She dropped down, elegant even in her servant's dress, and began sprinting for the escape, tripping once or twice in her slippered shoes.

Once she knew that Brelas was out safely, she turned her attention back to the approaching troll. She breathed deep, letting the cold air fill her lungs. She propped her body up, groaning at the pain in her side as she made eye contact with the beast, fire building in her lungs as she let the thu'um rip out of her throat.

" _ **FUS RO DAH!"**_ She knew as soon as the shout left her mouth that her ribs were broken. Her voice pushing against them was agony, and her vocal cords felt shredded, but nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing the Frost Troll flying backwards, slamming into the wall just as she had. With great effort, she lurched to her feet, blood pooling in her hands. Her previous injury from Sahloknir had split open again, spilling crimson onto the snow. By the _Gods,_ her throat burned. Each breath felt like fire scorching her neck. She coughed weakly into her hand, stunned at the smattering of blood on her palm. Shouting had its downsides, then.

 **Joor, you are hurt. How will you shout with your feeble human frame?** Mirmulnir questioned. **  
**  
He wasn't wrong. For the first time, she truly felt despair at being born in the wrong body. The Greybeards had told her that Akatosh is Father to all of the Dov, so why had he cursed her so? Did her so called 'Father' not love her as he did his other children? Her envy towards the other Dov tripled. Mirmulnir seemed to sense this, as she felt his presence curling around her thoughts, warm and smelling of fire.

 **Kiir, I am sorry. To be born in the skin of a mortal is… a most agonizing thought. You will be strong. If you cannot kill with your voice, wing, or claws, take what is yours with fire and steel.** he finished nobly.

Strangely, his words comforted her. She almost couldn't believe it, this cold, bloodthirsty dragon who sought to enslave humans and restore chaos, was being like a parent to her. It was a laughable thought, one Delphine would surely flay her alive for, but she didn't mind it.

Maybe she should have.  
-

Brelas and The Man, whose name she learned was Etienne Rarnis of the Thieves Guild, had been waiting outside for her, and when they saw the condition she was in, helped her to the carriage at Solitude, which was only half a league or so away. They kept on trying to give her money, but she refused, as they really didn't have any. Etienne returned to Riften, but Brelas had nowhere to go, so Madrigal invited her to come back to Riverwood, as the Sleeping Giant Inn was short of staff because of Delphine's duties, and her previous servant experience would be useful.

They way back was long and painful because of her injuries. She tried to heal herself, but her reserves were completely spent. Brelas was quiet, so Madrigal had plenty of time to think. She kept thinking of what she did to Malborn. It was completely logical, he was frazzled and risked exposing everything that she and Delphine had been working towards, but in her bloodlust, the _dovahsos_ rushing through her veins, she had felt no remorse. Indeed, she had even felt pleasure at his death, wich disturbed her greatly. The Dragon blood was said to be a gift, but she wondered if this slow corruption might be a curse. She could feel herself becoming more draconic in nature, more prone to anger and dominance, to petty shows of power. It was draining, but she couldn't stop relishing in it. What was wrong with her?

She had to meet Delphine and find this "Esbern", but Arngeir's words about the woman echoed in her head. The Blades were committed to hunting Dragons, but what did that mean if she was one? Not physically of course, but mentally? How far would she fall before Delphine killed her for giving into the allure of power and blood? The thought almost made her sick right there in the carriage. She didn't think Delphine would do that. Of course, she didn't really know the woman, but so far she didn't seem to be particularly cruel. But who ever showed that on the outside?

She hadn't trusted Delphine before, but now she knew that she needed to cut their ties as soon as possible, or else she feared the consequences would be severe if she continued down this path..


	8. A Cornered Rat

_A Cornered Rat_

Lydia had been appalled at the shape she was in, and had fussed over her for days. Brelas had to explain what happened, as Madrigal's voice was too hoarse to say anything at all. Delphine had been shocked to hear that Esbern was alive, as apparently they had used to be good friends, but Delphine had assumed he was dead when they ceased contact. She had shown her the Dossiers on her and Esbern, but kept Ulfric's to herself. She wasn't sure she wanted Delphine to know that much. Regardless, as soon as she was healed, she was glad to leave Delphine and her cold eyes behind.

Riften was a decidedly beautiful city. Once you saw past the dirty canal water and the shifty eyed merchants with quick fingers, not to mention the almost constant robberies, the lush autumnal trees of the Rift exploding in bright gold and red hues, towering snow capped mountains, and a vast system of rivers and lakes brightened the gloom that all of the residents seemed to carry with them.

But she wasn't interested in what lay above, she was looking for what was below. The infamous Ratways of Riften. A sprawling sewer system that the Thieves Guild and other vagrants and outcasts called home, Esbern included. She just needed to find it.

When she had first tried to enter the city one of the purple clad "guards" said she needed to pay the Visitor's Tax, which she immediately called bullshit on. Whoever had planted that little ploy was someone who had the money to bribe guards, most likely had city connections, and was willing to involve themselves with the dark side of the law. Unfortunately, that was most people in Riften.

She had bought a room at the inn, The Bee and Barb, where she had left Lydia, as stealth wasn't exactly the big woman's forte. Neither was subtlety for that matter. Madrigal had wandered out into the market center, little shops and stalls lined up around a well. A gruff looking Imperial woman preaching about her armor, an Argonian proudly displaying traditional Saxhleel jewelry, a Dunmer showing his cloths and wines to a young woman, and a handsome, red-headed Nord man selling something called "Falmer elixir" that would supposedly give you "increased stamina". It was obviously fake, which was just what she was looking for.

She walked up to the man, watching him closely. He was trying to appear nonchalant, and was doing fairly well at it too, but she could tell he was watching her from the corner of his eyes. She leaned on the side of the stall, pretending to look at his wares as she spoke, "I want some information on the Ratways."

Without looking at her, he whispered in a rich, lilting voice, "Information comes at a price, lass." he murmured out of the corner of his lips.  
She held up a potion bottle to the light as if inspecting it whilst he pretended to read from a ledger. "Which is?" she implored quietly.  
He glanced at her with dark green eyes. "I know about how you sniffed out my little scheme at the gate. My organization is in a bit of a rut, and we could use skills like yours."

She quirked a brow. "Well that seems hardly fair, I join your… group, in exchange for some small knowledge. A poor deal if I ever saw one." she declared abruptly.  
He hummed slowly, scrutinizing her as he put the ledger down. "Then how about this, you help me with a bit of dirty work here in the market, and if all goes well, i'll give you direction to my… associates, and from there you can decide whether or not you want to join us. Either way, you'll find whatever you need there." She thought for a moment. He was obviously in the Thieves Guild. She had been taught by enough cutthroats and sneaks as a child for her to be a more than adequate thief. She could do this.  
"Deal." she replied firmly. A wolf's grin split his rugged face.

"Perfect, here's what you need to do. Go over to Madesi's strongbox-" He nodded to the Argonian- "Steal his ring, then sneak over and plant it on Brand-Shei." He motioned to the Dark elf.

"Why plant the ring on Brand-Shei?" she inquired thoughtfully.  
He smirked. "Because someone wants him out of business for good, and they're paying us for it."

Fair enough. She walked over to the side of the market, giving him the go-ahead.

He raised his hands and spoke in a booming tone, "Come one, come all! Try the legendary Falmer Elixir!" The other store vendors sighed and rolled their eyes, but walked towards him anyways. The armor merchant, Grelka, didn't look amused. "What now Brynjolf?" she asked, annoyed.

Once everyone had their backs turned, she slid behind Madesi's stall, picking open his bottom cupboard, then picking the lock on his strongbox. Inside was some gold, a few jewels, and his ring. Naturally, she took it all.

As Brynjolf kept the crowd distracted, she slunk around a pile of storage crates that Brand-Shei was sitting on. Through the the boxes, she ever so gently opened his back pocket, dropping the ring inside. When she let go and he didn't protest, she breathed a sigh of relief, smoothly crawling away before standing up in the Market Center. She locked eyes with Brynjolf, and he regretfully informed the restless crowd that he had no more time. She shook her head, walking over to him once everyone had returned to their respective stalls.

He smirked at her, full lips quirking at the corner. "Well lass, looks like I chose the right person for the job. Feel free for another taste?" he asked, voice dripping with honey.  
She shrugged her shoulders impassively. "The money's nice, but I don't know." she avowed breezily.  
He huffed, voice sarcastic as he said, "Please lass, don't insult me. I've seen your type. You're no stranger to thieving, and I think your pockets need a bit more filling." That being said, he held out a small bag of coins.  
Now _this_ is what she was really interested in. Quickly, she grabbed it, looking inside to inspect the septims. All real, genuine Imperial currency. "Ha, like I would turn down money. Alright, you've got me hooked," she consented, stowing the gold in her ever-growing pack. "If I don't die in your Ratways expect to see me there."

"Reliable _and_ Headstrong? You're turning out to be quite the prize lass." he marveled appreciatively.

She laughed in his face. "Please, i'm no one's prize." she said mockingly, and turned away, opening the door to the Bee and Barb. She needed a drink.

This time, she had opted to bring Lydia with her into the Ratways. She preferred to have her as a distraction whilst she pelted the enemy with various spells and arrows. Of course, she had expected the two bandits talking near the entrance way, but as she went deeper into the sewers, she hadn't given thought to the crazy man in rags who tried to punch her to death with his rabid skeever friend, or the lowlife murmuring to themselves, the ground around them littered with empty ale and wine bottles. The Ratway certainly had some… interesting occupants, to say the least.

After wading through black, foul water and disarming multiple traps, her mood steadily getting worse, the entrance to the Ragged Flagon was finally in front of her. Breathing a blissful sigh of relief, she ducked inside, thoroughly planning on making use of the subterranean inn's bar and seats.

Her first impressive of the inn was roomy. Tiled cobblestone walls stretched upwards, forming a dome like space, a large stone pool encompassed the center, narrow wooden walkways and piers traced the sides. On the far side lay the bar and general hangout area, but where she stood she could see niches in the wall with covered barrels and boxes, as if the had once housed small shops and stalls. Underneath the grime and algae on the walls, she could see what once might have been an artfully crafted mosaic. The whole place had an air of despondency, old thieves drinking themselves into the bottom of their cups as the youth counted small stacks of coin with sullen frowns. It looked like this place might have once been prosperous, but had fallen onto hard times.

She marched forward, ignoring the mean looking nord wearing leather armor who grunted threateningly at her. Brynjolf stood by the bar, frustratingly gesturing with his hands to the surrounding thieves and bartender. She slid into the shadows unnoticed, watching the show.

The man cleaning dishes behind the bar laughed in a deep voice, his dark eyes twinkling. His handsome face widened into a bitter grin. "Give it up Brynjolf! Those days are over!" he crowed ruefully.  
Brynjolf shook his head. "I'm telling you, this one's different." he snapped desperately. The bartender's mustache twitched in disbelief.  
Another thief spoke up from his chair, his gravely voice grating against her ears, much unlike Brynjolf's. "We've all heard that one before Bryn. Quit kidding yourself." he drunkenly proclaimed.  
The bartender sighed, leaning forward onto the bar. "It's time to face the truth old friend, You, Vex, Mercer, you're all part of a dying breed! Things are changing." Brynjolf shook his head, the candlelight making his jaw length red hair glow in the dimness.  
She was surprised when he turned to her hiding spot, looking right at her. "Dying breed, eh? What'd you call that then?" he replied with a signature smirk. Damn, he was good.

She slunk out of her corner, walking up to him. The little audience that Brynjolf had gathered grumbled in defeat as they dispersed back throughout the bar. "Well, well, well, color me impressed lass. I wasn't certain if i'd ever see you again."  
She flicked some residual sewer muck off of her shoulder. "Do you purposefully like it to be disgusting or is that just a reflection of your characters?" she grumbled in contempt.  
He chuckled, crossing his arms resolutely. "Didn't realize that I had signed on a fancy-pants elf."  
She huffed in annoyance. "Please, do you expect all new recruits to frolic blissfully through the city waste whilst avoiding large traps and poor maniacs? An ideal day for someone out there, surely." she sneered with disgust as even more slime dripped off her her.

He guffawed, broad chest shaking as he shook his head, unbound hair flying in different directions. "Aye, lass, you have a point there. But mind that tongue around the higher-ups or you just might lose it." he said rather cryptically.

Well, she wasn't good at following rules, so she might as well undermine them spectacularly. Speaking of which, she had a job to do, and she wasn't part of this guild yet. Brynjolf looked at her with inquisitive eyes. "Well lass, how do you feel about handling a few deadbeats for me?"  
She tutted as she shook her head. "Deal's a deal Brynjolf, I came to this place, now you have to tell me where to find a certain someone." He tsked in annoyance, but his face remained open.

"Alright lass, you're a sharp one. Talk to Vekel-" he motioned to the attractive bartender. "He has any information you would need." She nodded her thanks as she made her way over.

Vekel glanced at her as she sat on a stool, watching him clean out a mug with a dirty rag. Without looking up, he spoke to her in a rich accent. "Name's Vekel the Man, I hear you're Bryn's new protege aye? Bet you'll be gone in a week." he assured with a knowing look.  
She bristled slightly at his tone, but kept her voice even. "I don't plan on staying long, so you might be right, but that's besides the point. I'm looking for an old man hiding in the Ratways, name's Esbern." she insisted, motioning with her hands for emphasis.  
Vekel stopped cleaning the glass, looking at her with interest. "Is that so? What do you want with the old man? Crazier than a box of rocks, and that says something down here." he recalled with a quiet chuckle that sent his mustache quivering.

"I need to know where he is. His life's in danger." she pleaded.  
Vekel shook his head, obviously not buying it. "A touching story i'm sure, but you'll have to try harder than that." She grit her teeth in annoyance, begrudgingly handing over a small sack of Septims. Grinning, Vekel swiped the gold underneath the bar. "So, what was it you needed?"

The Ratway Warrens were crawling with Thalmor. As she shot them down with arrows, wincing at every creaky step and clank of metal that came from her burly companion, she began to fear that they had already reached Esbern. After receiving several scorch marks from elven lightning and dropping down a festering hole in the ground, she was ready to let the damn elves have the man. What was with these people and living in the worst places?

She reached an area that, finally, had no Thalmor that she could sense. The room was large, with two levels each sporting a series of locked wooden doors. Behind the one that was closest to her, she could hear a woman muttering about buckets and brooms. In another the door was open, where she saw a haunted looking man with an old imperial sword resting on his knees, staring into his small fire as if it would give him answers. Going to the next next floor she could smell rotting flesh and the stench of unwashed bodies on the door to her right, the others were dark and ajar, no residents inside. At the very end was an iron door, covered top to bottom in bolts and chains with a sliding peephole. Hesitantly, she knocked on the cold, grimy surface.

She jumped backwards with a gasp as the slot slammed open, two weathered blue eyes staring at her suspiciously. "Go away!" his scratchy voice echoed throughout the dank cell that he was in.  
She cleared her throat. "Esbern? Open the door, i'm a friend." Instantly she winced at how fake that sounded. She wasn't exactly an elf-hating Nord either, as Valenwood was aligned with the Aldmeri Dominion. Damn.

From behind the door Esbern's voice shook as he stuttered out sentences. "What?! No, that's not me. I'm not Esbern. I don't know what you're talking about." He was such a terrible liar that it astounded her.

"It's okay, Delphine sent me." she pleaded, trying to ameliorate the situation. "I-Delphine? How do you-?" His voice suddenly turned hostile. "So you've finally found her, and she led you to me. And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap." She was quiet for a moment, still registering the bitterness in his voice before taking a deep breath to calm herself.  
Her patience was worn thin as he slammed shut the slot in her face with a loud clang of metal. "Look, Esbern," she said slowly. "Delphine needs your help to stop the dragons. Apparently you know something that she doesn't or she'll regret sending me into this shit hole, dump of a sewer for your old wrinkly ass."

"No! I said go away! Don't think that I can't recognize a Wood Elf when I hear one. You work with the Dominion don't you?" As he spit out those words she heard loud metal clad footsteps echoing on the slimy stone floors of the next room. The Thalmor were coming. Struggling to keep her composure, she pushed Mirmulnir and Sahloknir down with an immense effort, fighting the urge to shout the door down and just be done with it. Instead she turned back to the door, prying open the rusty slot with her fingernails.

"Esbern, the Thalmor are literally in the next room over so if you don't open this shit-for-sticks door I am literally going to blast this thing open." she snarled threateningly through the two inch gap.

He laughed, "How exactly will you shout this down, huh?"

"With the Thu'um." she stated matter-of-factly.

He was quiet for a moment. "You're Dragonborn?" he whispered.

"Yes, now open the goddamn door." she hissed vehemently.

Suddenly she heard the sound of multiple deadbolts being undone. After what felt like a millennia, the door finally slid open. Quickly, Esbern ushered Lydia and her inside. The interior of his "cell" was surprisingly inviting. Cases of books lined the walls and lay strewn across rickety tables. A small desk had what looked like Esbern's half finished dinner that sat atop piles of scrolls and documents. The man himself reflected his room, dressed in a rough strewn tunic and weathered pants. Lack of sleep showed underneath crystal bright eyes and creases lined his aged face, yet his expression was rather open, a complete departure from Delphine's stone like features. He shut the door and began locking up the ridiculous amount of bolts and chains with a speed that spoke of repeated practice.

"That's better. Now we can talk." He turned back towards her, a question already forming on his lips. "You… Dragonborn?" he said in disbelief.  
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Don't sound so surprised." she remarked in a droll tone.  
"What? No that's not what I meant, I only mean that there has not been a Dragonborn in ages. I can't believe it's true." he marveled.  
She waved her semi-clawed hand flippantly, a shrug rolling off of her shoulders. "That's what everyone's said so far." He seemed to droop like an old wilted plant, which she supposed he was.  
"Then there is hope. The God's have not truly abandoned us." A breath of relief slipped past his cracked lips as he straightened. "I've been watching our doom approach helplessly, unable to do anything but wait," he began pacing about his room intensely. "When it became apparent that a Dragonborn was going to reappear, I lost hope, and I hid here." She frowned, uncrossing her arms.

"Doom? You mean the Dragons?" she asked.  
He sniffed reproachfully. "Dragons, pah. They can be killed. The Blades hunted many in their early days as Dragon-slayers." She groaned inwardly as Mirmulnir and Sahloknir began raging in her mind, shouting for her to kill him for his impudence. She didn't know how to explain to him that he shouldn't offend the Dov that currently resided in her brain. Luckily he continued, not seeming to notice her lapse in attention. "No, the dragons are merely the final portent of the End of Days."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," she faltered, placing her arms out in front of her. "You're talking about the literal end of the world?"  
Esbern's eyes lit up in feverish excitement. "Oh, yes! The prophecies make clear the signs that will precede the end times. One by one I have seen them fulfilled. Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said! The Dragon from the dawn of time who devours the souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! Alduin will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him!" Esbern's voice rose to a frantic pitch. Mirmulnir and Sahloknir had quieted, but now proceeded to chant, _Thuuri, Thuuri, Thuuri, Thuuri, Thuuri.  
_ "Alduin." she bit out. "The Dragon who's raising the others?"

"Yes! Yes! You see, you know but you refuse to understand!" he raved, arms flailing as he turned to her with frantic eyes.  
She sucked down a lungful of stale air. "Esbern, remember. I'm Dragonborn." she soothed placatingly.  
He calmed, his wild eyes and sporadic hand gestures slowing to a halt. "You're right, I forget myself. I've lived without hope for so long…" He snapped out of his reflective state, walking to different shelves and drawers, "We must go, quickly now. Take me to Delphine. We have much to discuss. Give me… just a moment… I must gather a few things…" He began running around the room, pulling out books, scrolls, and various bags that he had had shoved into random nooks and crannies. "I'll need this… No, no, useless trash…Where'd I put my annotated Anund?" He darted past her, ruffling through a shelf full of ingredients and herbs. "One moment, I know, time is of the essence, but I mustn't leave any secrets for the Thalmor… There's one more I must bring…" He ran back to the desk, shoving his dinner and other miscellaneous items off with a clatter as he searched for something. Finally he grabbed what looked like a worn book and threw it in his satchel. "Well, I guess that's good enough… let's be off." A little dumbfounded she nodded and waited for him to reopen the door.

As soon as they exited, she heard an imperious voice crow from the shadows. "Too easy." She lit her hands aflame as Lydia unsheathed her massive war axe. Behind her Esbern murmured, "This isn't good."

Then lightning exploded in the room.

She ducked from the Thalmor's magic, Esbern and Lydia following suit as the wall behind them combusted, leaving a smoldering crater in the stone. They really weren't messing around this time. Three golden figures walked into the murky light, weapons and magic alike glowing in the dimness.

For once she was even in a fight. How quant.

With a war cry Lydia pushed forward, swinging her axe with wild abandon as the Thalmor dodged to avoid it. In a flash of purple light Esbern conjured a Flame Atronach while she jumped into the fray, body cocooned in a bonfire trailing ash. Lydia ripped open one guard with a downwards arc that smashed the crumbling mortar underneath her feet into dust. Madrigal slithered forwards, wrapping her hands around the second guard's neck as she ignited him from the inside, his body boiling underneath his armour. The only enemy left standing was the Mage.

Lydia, Madrigal, and the Flame Atronach converged upon the poor woman, who in retaliation shot out a spread of electricity, aiming wildly in her desperation. The shock spell passed right through the Atronach, but it stung Madrigal's skin, sending bolts of pain up her body. Lydia however, with no affinity for shock magic and clad in metal armour, stumbled, sprawling to the floor in a heap.

They pushed forward without her, the Atronach launching balls of flame as Madrigal slid behind the Thalmor, pulling out her knives as she went. The woman was so preoccupied with the fire wielding conjuration that she didn't even notice Madrigal's blades slicing across her soft throat. By the time the Mage hit the floor in a smoking heap, Esbern had already banished the Daedra and Lydia was rising to her feet on shaky limbs.

It was too easy really. The Dominion needed to step up their game. Pocketing their valuables as they went, the trio moved to the next room.  
She decided to bypass The Ragged Flagon and instead circled around until she reached the original way she had entered the Ratways. From thereon out, Madrigal retraced her steps back. On the way there was only the occasional vagrant and skeever, but no Thalmor. They emerged from the sewers tired, hungry, and in desperate need of a bath.

Dusk was setting over the wooden slats of Riften's homes, casting a warm orange glow to the city as sunlight bounced off of the murky canal waters.

Ascending up the molding steps to the market, Madrigal bypassed the Bee and Barb, much to Lydia's protests. She hadn't felt like disturbing the other patrons with their stench, but as soon as they had left the city gates Madrigal removed her armour and jumped into Lake Henrich wearing only her cloth shirt and breeches. Lydia jumped in without hesitation, but Madrigal and Esbern had to pull her out because she forgot to remove her steel plates and had sank right to the bottom of the bank. Esbern himself chose to remain dry. Or as dry as he could be, after getting wet in Lydia's rescue. It was a rare moment of peace for all of them.

Madrigal had eventually sat down with Esbern and watched the sun retreat over the vast mountain peaks that dominated the landscape, Lydia now washing her still filthy armour on the rocky shore. As soon as she was finished, they all reluctantly stood, walking back to the stables. Madrigal had managed to scrounge up some septims, tossing them to the nearby carriage driver as the troupe of adventurers piled onto the rough-hewn seats.

By the time the carriage was wheeling out of Riften, all three of them had passed out into a heap, Esbern and Lydia snoring like bears with Madrigal curled up quietly next to them. It was the first real rest that they had gotten for a while, and they weren't going to squander it, but eventually the cart had to stop.

Shambling out of the carriage, they shuffled inside the Sleeping Giant in the wee hours of the morning, Madrigal leading them down to the secret cellar under the rooms where they all proceeded to fall onto the softest part of the floor.

Delphine couldn't quite believe her eyes when she saw Madrigal, Lydia, and miraculously, Esbern, of all people, sprawled about the small meeting room. And on the stone floor no less. They hadn't even bothered to sleep on the few pelts that she had laid out in her poor attempt at interior decorating. She sighed before walking back up the stairs. They'd wake up when they needed to, no point in rousing them now. Besides, she needed more time to plan her next move.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
That was a long one. Esbern is so much fun to write, and having him interact with my character in his lovely, slightly neurotic way just warms my heart. Now, obviously Brynjolf wants Madrigal to work in the guild, but I honestly have no idea how i'll integrate that. I want her to join some factions, not all, mind, but i'm not sure where they would fit in. It wouldn't be very like her to stop worrying about the end of the world so that she can go steal stuff. I'm (maybe) splitting this into thirds for each DLC, and I really want to do my own take on the Civil War, so any ideas or suggestions are welcome.


	9. Alduin's Wall

She woke up to Delphine's harsh face leaning over her, Esbern already examining the meeting room that she had become so accustomed to. Rolling over she shook Lydia awake, earning a loud groan of protest. She rose to her aching feet as Lydia began to stir, staring blankly at Delphine's stern features with bleary eyes.

"I've already talked to Esbern about what we're doing next." She brandished a thick roll of parchment, handing it to her. Inside was a crudely drawn map with a large "X" smeared over the Druadach Mountains next to Markarth. She returned the paper to Delphine's outstretched palm with a frown.

"Why there?"

She smiled primly, tucking the map back into her satchel. "Alduin's wall. It's located inside Sky Haven Temple."

"Which has been abandoned for decades and is now surrounded by Forsworn." mumbled Esbern from behind Delphine.

She turned back to him, hands braced on her wiry hips. "I've said it once and i'll say it again, it'll be fine. They live in small numbers and are poorly armed. They'll probably have fallen into anarchy before we even get there." She smirked confidently as Esbern shook his head.

"They've survived this long Delphi. Don't make the mistake of underestimating them. It's basically their capital, Forsworn inside and out, not to mention whatever could be lurking outside the temple itself."

Ignoring his exasperated tone, Delphine just shrugged and locked eyes with Madrigal. "Are you coming with us?" she inquired.

She shuddered inwardly. Spending two weeks traveling with Delphine was probably a fate worse than death. She was also being weirdly playful with Esbern and she knew for a fact that she wanted nothing to do with whatever dynamic was between those two, besides that, smaller numbers would attract fewer curious eyes.

She declined. Politely.

Delphine huffed, but Madrigal thought she looked somewhat relieved that they would be separated as well. The older woman began gathering her things as Esbern stretched, starting up the creaky wooden staircase.

"We'll head out soon, make sure we don't have to wait." Delphine stated, her blue eyes focusing behind Madrigal.

With a huff the Blade turned on her heel, marching up the stairs after Esbern.

Madrigal turned, now alone with the exception of Lydia's prone body, who was once again, she realized, completely asleep.

Maybe two people were a crowd, she pondered.

* * *

She had chosen not to take a carriage to Markarth so that she could save her money, but the going was exceptionally slow. They could travel so much faster if she had wings of her own. That is, if she even let Lydia hitch a ride on her, but if she had wings, she probably wouldn't need Lydia anyways.

Lydia. Clueless, strong, sleepy Lydia. Oh, how the woman irritated her.

It was not to be said that Lydia didn't do her job well, indeed she was quite good as knocking bandits over the head with a cudgel, but that was just the thing wasn't it? People, not Dragons. As soon as they fought something more challenging than a barbarian in rags the woman became a liability, and Madrigal couldn't afford to look after someone besides herself.

But yet… she couldn't bring herself to dismiss the woman, and she was an excellent pack mule. She frowned, looking at the rough-hewn cobble path before her.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice the warrior in question sidling, or rather stomping, up behind her.

"Ma'am?" Lydia inquired.

Madrigal started, looking back at the woman with inquisitive eyes.

"Uh, yes? Did you see something?" She implored.

Lydia frowned, shrugging her shoulders demurely as she jogged lightly to Madrigals side. "It occurred to me, Ma'am, that I know nothing about you, and as your sword and shield I feel it is my duty and, pardon my forwardness, my pleasure to learn more about you." Her words were clipped and formal, but her brown eyes were warm and open, looking all the while like a puppy begging for food.

She regarded her suspiciously, casting her eye over every inch of the woman. As the silence dragged on Lydia seemed to shrink until her demeanor was smaller than Madrigals stature.

"Fine." She commented starkly.

Lydias face lit up, immediately straightening with a question already poised on her tongue.

"What are your views on the Civil War?" She asked brightly.

Madrigal stopped, Lydia's question left her dumbfounded.

 _Not afraid to get the ball rolling is she?_

"Well, I, uh, I guess I don't really have a super strong opinion on the matter." She stammered.

Lydia frowned, dark brows furrowing. "But you must have _some_ opinion, surely." She exclaimed.

She did have _some_ opinions, yes. For one, the Stormcloaks were definitely racist, she had heard the slurs shouted at the elves, some might've even been directed at her when she thought back to it. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that their "Skyrim belongs to the Nords" agenda was a one way ticket to an even more divided Empire and a solitary Skyrim fighting the Empire and the Thalmor on both sides.

The Imperials, however, seemed like a good idea, until she thought about the supremacist Altmer controlling the shattered Empire like a puppeteer pulling their strings. If what she had seen them do as a child didn't convince her, what she had seen in the Embassy certainly did. Both options were decidedly awful, she determined.

She had told Lydia that much at least, to which the woman nodded grimly.

Lydia's next question wasn't nearly so controversial, "Do you have family?" She probed curiously.

Madrigal's smile was bittersweet. "Oh, I've had more family than most people ever get to meet in their life. My birth parents abandoned, or lost me, in the woods when I was a child, but I made friends with the travelers that passed through the forest. A Khajiit caravan taught me how to sneak, a Dunmer battlemage instructed me in the arcane, an Imperial Scholar taught me my numbers and how to speak Cyrodilic, an old Nord showed me the blade, and a weary Hunter educated me in archery. When I wasn't learning from others I spent my time alone, running around doing Gods-know-what in the canopy." she explained nostalgically, staring wistfully at memories the other woman couldn't see.

Pulling herself out of her thoughts she turned back to Lydia. "What about you?" she asked. In fact, She knew next-to-nothing about her companion, even less than Lydia knew about her, which definitely wasn't a lot.

Lydia considered her question for a good while. "Honestly," she began, scowling at the ground as she kicked a pebble down the path, "I can hardly remember my parents. They were there for sure, I just don't have much space left in my brain for them. My entire life has been devoted to serving Skyrim and my Jarl, and to that extent, his Thane. It is my greatest honor to serve you, and I would gladly die for it." she concluded somberly, frowning as she watched her pebble fly into the sea of saffron from an over-eager kick.

"You would so readily throw your life away?" Madrigal questioned, finding a new rock for Lydia to knock about.

"Is it really throwing your life away if you know you'll go someplace after you're gone? I know that Sovngarde awaits me if I die honorably, so I have no fear if I pass young." She finished with a small grin on her pale face, nudging the rock back to Madrigal.

"But what if you die and there is nothing waiting for you?" asked Madrigal as she kicked the rock back to Lydia.

She grinned broadly, "Then I will have died happy and hopeful, with no regrets or fear. Maybe that's why people created the idea of an Afterlife, to die happy." she stated, continuing their little back and forth pebble toss.

Madrigal felt shame crawling up her throat. Lydia was still not an intelligent woman, but she did have more thoughts than eat, sleep, and fight. She wanted to be a better- what? Friend? No they definitely weren't that. Acquaintance? She didn't even know if they could go that far. Person? Yes, she was always striving to be a better person, yet somehow she always managed to fail.

Lydia turned to her, pebble forgotten. "It has occurred to me Ma'am, that you say you don't believe in the gods, but you were raised in Valenwood, not to mention you're the Dragonborn, so don't you follow Y'ffre, or even Akatosh?" she inquired boldy.

"I do not disprove that they exist, but I won't fight for their ideals either. The townfolk of the village I grew up next to never bothered to teach me about the forest Gods or the Great Hunt, and if Akatosh is supposed to be my "Father", he gave me quite the short straw as Dovahkiin." she remarked, only somewhat bitter.

Lydia glanced at her, shock written on her face. "You dislike being Dragonborn?" she exclaimed, stumbling on the rocky soil as she continued to stare.

Madrigal sighed deeply, turning to look at the woman with weary eyes. "Imagine being born as a mouse. You can read and write human words, but cannot speak them. You are, for all intents and purposes, a human, but your body is that of a rodent, and no matter how hard you try, the humans keep trying to step on you." She paused looking at Lydia's dumbstruck expression. "Allow me to rephrase, you know everything to know about fighting and protection, down to the tee. You know more than most practiced swordsmen. However, you have a physical condition that prevents you from ever lifting a sword, even if you're more than capable." She explained slowly, watching understanding dawn on Lydia's face.

The area was becoming more mountainous, large rocks and boulders clogging the paths and roadways. "So now you, _huff,_ understand why I could possibly be somewhat, _huff,_ upset." she panted as she hauled her body up a steep rocky incline. Damn Skyrim and it's damn mountains. She wasn't used to the province's ridiculously high altitude. Lydia, however, seemed to be doing just fine even in her bulky armor.

"Yes," the woman began calmly. "That would be most frustrating. Does this mean that you wish you were a dragon?" Lydia questioned, traversing the rocks with care.

"You know that's a loaded question." she started.

"No I really don't." Lydia assured.

"Well," Madrigal answered. "Physically? Yes, but mentally… i'm not so sure. As of yet, I haven't met any of the Dov who are what humans would consider nice, or even polite." she finished, conflicted as she slung her pack up yet another boulder, grimacing as it got stuck in a juniper tree.

 **What do you mean? I am a delight.** Mirmulnir helpfully added.

 **No you're a nuisance, I am better by far.** Sahloknir competed.

 _You're both idiots._

"Do you even consider yourself human, or mer, technically?" Lydia asked inquisitively, reaching up to help dislodge the pack.

"I… Honestly, no." she admitted, turning her vermilion gaze to her companion, "I mean, look at me. There's no way I could pass for normal."

"What? No! I think someone would have to be crazy to bel-" she stopped mid sentence as Madrigal flashed her serrated teeth at the warrior. "Well from a distance no one can tell the difference!" she added cheerfully, yanking down Madrigal's pack with a forceful tug, breaking half of the tree in the process.

Lydia smiled sheepishly at her wanton plant destruction as Madrigal huffed exasperatedly.

Eventually they found a road and entered a large valley. Madrigal kept glancing up, sensing Dov in the area.

Alduin's Wall was close.

* * *

Dragons were everywhere. She didn't know if it was physically possible for a mortal's mouth to go dry and salivate at the same time from the sheer amount of souls flying about, ripe for the taking. Delphine and Esbern were standing on a gravelly knoll, watching the carnage unfold as a Dragon tossed a Forsworn archer into the sky.

She marched up behind the pair, a crease deepening her brow. "What are we doing standing here? There are Dragons, we should go _kill_ them." she growled, pacing back and forth as she watched the battle unfold.

"Patience," Delphine soothed. "We'll go in once the crowd has thinned out a bit. The Dragons won't escape." she avowed confidently. Behind her Esbern grumbled to himself.

"Or we don't engage at all and wait 'till they're dead." he suggested sourly, glowering at the three women.

"No," Delphine and Madrigal argued simultaneously, glancing at each other in surprise.

Madrigal raised her chin stubbornly. "I'm not letting them get away. Each of them has a soul that I want to take." she hissed vehemently.

Esbern retreated, resignation crossing his face. "Fine, fine. Divines know I can't stop you, but it's your funeral." he muttered crossly.

She huffed, turning back to the scene below. Humans ran about casting spells and firing arrows as colossal Dov swept down from the clouds raining ice and fire upon the mortals below. The large Forsworn camp looked like an anthill that someone had stepped on. A very large, dangerous anthill.

"What are we waiting for?" she asked boldly, turning back to the trio as an impish smile spread across her face. "Let's go kill some stuff."

* * *

It was absolute chaos, pure and complete.

Forsworn ran about, screaming in terror and rage simultaneously as random Dragons breathed death upon the _joore_ below. At one point there was even a Hagraven running about with her tail feathers on fire.  
All the while Madrigal laughed in ecstasy as the _Dov_ above fueled her with wild abandon, leaping from victim to victim, twin daggers gleaming in the fire around her. Everything passed her in a blur. It was only her blood rushing through her ears and the breath leaving her body that she was aware of.

She vaguely remembered killing a Dragon or two, but the memories were hazy. After it was all done, Madrigal, Lydia, Delphine, Esbern, and the said man's flame atronach stood in the center of the camp. Bodies and gore were everywhere and three _Dov_ skeletons lay scattered about the site. It was almost impressive to witness the sheer loss of life that surrounded them.

She was bone-tired, the adrenaline that had powered her before was gone, leaving her exhausted. She pleaded her case to the others, begging a few hours rest before continuing inside the mountain. Esbern and Lydia readily agreed, Delphine more reluctantly so.

She immediately crashed onto one of the many bedrolls placed around the camp, falling into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

When she awoke, the glow of Secunda and Masser washed the camp in an ethereal light. Her companions appeared to be sleeping as well, bundled up in semi bloody sleeping bags.

Madrigal yawned, stretching as she prepared to wake her party, but she stopped.

There was something on her right hand. Looking closer in the dim light she bent to examine her skin.

Something dark and, shiny? She picked at it, but it wouldn't come off. _What in Oblivion?_ She lit up a small flame in her other hand to better see.

Instantly, she recoiled in shock. They were Dragon scales.

They covered her fingers and most of her hand in black scales. Where there was once tan, lightly freckled skin was now reptilian armor.

Her nails weren't even nails anymore, but smooth, minuscule talons. She shuddered violently, immediately beginning to search the chests and bodies around her for gloves. The Blades mustn't see. They couldn't. Even Lydia must remain ignorant of this development.

Finally, a pair of dark green gloves were pried off of a stiff corpse and shoved onto her hands. She only prayed that the others wouldn't take notice.

With a nervous exhale of the frigid night air, she began shaking her companions awake, wishing for this to be done as soon as possible.

* * *

Inside they had found only more Forsworn and one or two disgustingly simple puzzles. At the end was a cavernous sinkhole, snow and starlight spilling in to expose an eerie man's face carved out of stone situated on the far side of the space.

Esbern began explaining something about the wonders of preservation and the history of the temple, but she wasn't listening, instead walking up to the face in the wall. She examined the stern, simple face, stroking the cool, smooth surface of the granite.

Esbern walked up behind her, analyzing the carving alongside her. "They say that Reman Cyrodiil was a Dragonborn much like yourself," he commented quietly.

"It seems I have a lot to live up to," she remarked dryly, glancing at the old man from the corner of her eye.

"Oh, I don't think you'll have a problem with that, Dragonborn," he said kindly. "You know, they say that Reman was first ren-"

"What about we stop chit-chatting and enter the damn temple." Delphine grumbled sourly as she marched up towards them. "Starting with the weird face door." she announced, gazing uncomfortably at the blank granite eyes of Reman Cyrodiil.

Esbern grunted sourly as he bent to examine the circular stone platform they were standing on. He walked around it, muttering to himself as he tapped his foot on the floor. "Of course, Akaviri." he voiced to himself. He cleared his throat, standing straight once more. "Yes, well, it appears that this is an Akaviri blood seal. Quite an interesting find really. Many people are not aware of how scientifically and technologically advanced the Akav-"

"The seal, Esbern." Delphine snapped at the man frustratingly.

"I, um - yes, of course. My mistake." he professed. Clearing his throat he continued, "The Akaviri blood seal can only be opened with the right kind of blood. Your blood, Dragonborn." he added firmly.

It always had to be this weird archaic blood shit, didn't it? With a roll of her eyes she crouched down, unsheathing one of her many daggers.

With a quick slash, she cut her palm, the blood already beading up around the wounds, trickling down her skin and onto the center of the stone floor below. Almost immediately, the faint spirals etched onto the platform began to glow blue, orange, and yellow. The light traveled outwards, curving up to gracefully wind around Reman's stone likeness. With a sonorous boom, Reman's face shifted, swinging backwards and up to uncover a pitch black passageway before them.

"After you, Dragonborn," Delphine commented smoothly. "You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple."

With a nod, Madrigal stepped into the darkness. With a flick of her wrist, she illuminated the old torches lining the stone walls, revealing a decrepit stone staircase winding up to towering brass doors.

With a forceful shove, she pushed them open, marveling at the expansive cavern that lay before her.

Minute holes and crevices in the ceiling above filtered moonlight through, casting the room in eerie shadows. A long table lay in the center, and like everything else in the temple, it was crafted out of stone. To her right a beautiful mural had been exquisitely carved in the wall, sprawling across much of the cavern side. Nordic warriors brandished ancient weapons as a fearsome Dragon spread its colossal wings in the middle. At the end, a figure was portrayed, a helm concealing their identity. They raised a sword, light emanating from within them as the Dragon, Alduin, cowered before the divine light.

Esbern shuffled to the beginning of the wall, examining a piece that she had not noticed. "Look, here is Alduin!" he exclaimed, running his gnarled hands across the textured surface. "This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim."

Above him Alduin was pictured, spewing flames upon the cowering mortals. The flame of Esbern's torch cast a flickering light upon the grim image, making the _Dov_ seem even more awe inspiring. He raised his light higher, moving to the next panel.

"Here, the Humans rebel against their Dragon overlords - the legendary Dragon War." he said with reverence. His pale eyes scanned to mural with growing intensity as his voice picked up in fervor.

"Alduin's defeat is the centerpiece of the wall," he noted, continuing his monologue. "You see, here he is falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues - masters of the voice - are arrayed against him." The said Nords were shown using a shout to rip Alduin from the heavens.

How was the possible? What she saw at Helgen was a display of pure, raw force. Such a shout was incomprehensible to her. Nothing like that could have been created by the Dragons. Why make something that would destroy their own _Thuri_?

Delphine piped up once more from the back, "So, does it show how they defeated him? Isn't that why we're here?" she barked, flailing her torch impatiently.

Esbern smiled knowingly, tutting softly at her. "Patience, my dear. The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism." he affirmed calmly.

Delphine's lips pursed, her face scrunching up so tightly it was almost comical. Madrigal smiled smugly at the incredibly irate woman, turning back to observe the wall with Esbern.

"Yes, yes, this here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes - this is the Akaviri symbol for shout." Esbern muttered quietly, brushing away the dust and grime that lay thick upon the panel. "But," he added, "There is no way to know what shout is meant."

"And we have to find it now?" she grumbled, huffing in annoyance.

"Yes, that would seem so." he commented dryly.

 _Why can't my job be easy?_

"You mean they used a shout to defeat Alduin? You're sure?" Delphine asked skeptically.

"Hmm?" Esbern sounded, dragging his eyes away from the mural. "Oh, yes. Presumably something rather specific to Dragons, or even Alduin himself. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return." he concluded, turning back to the wall once more.

"So we're looking for a shout then. Damn it." Delphine cursed, moving to stand next to Madrigal.

"Have you ever heard of such a thing?" she questioned, locking eyes with the Dragonborn. "A shout that can knock a Dragon out of the sky?"

"Well, the best place to look would probably be the Greybeards. They seem to know everything on Dragon Lore." she affirmed. Of everything she had ever asked them regarding the _Dov_ they had been able to answer.

The _Dov._

The _Dov,_ yes of course! She had forgotten about the Dragons in her head. They were no doubt overflowing with shouts and history that she could never dream of. She made a a mental note to talk to them later.

"You're probably right," Delphine continued. "I was hoping to avoid having to involve them in this, but it seems we have no choice." she stated grimly, the harsh edges of her face creasing downwards in dislike.

Madrigal narrowed her eyes at the Blade. "What do you have against the Greybeards?" she asked, eyeing the woman down.

"If they had their way you'd do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do." she scoffed, unaware of the increasing heat around her. "The Greybeards are so afraid of power that they won't use it." she barked, becoming more frustrated at the topic matter. "Think about it," she continued. "Have they tried to stop the Civil War, or done anything about Alduin? No! And they're afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there's no need to be afraid." she said consolingly. "Think of Tiber Septim. Do you think he'd've founded the Empire if he'd listened to the Greybeards?"

"Have you ever considered that they are monks, not _gods."_ Madrigal seethed. "They do not involve themselves with the Civil War for the exact purpose that they _have_ this so called power that you think they're afraid of. They know that whatever they say would drastically affect the outcome of the war, which is something that needs to be sorted out by the Empire and The Stormcloaks. And Alduin? That's my job, not theirs. So it really makes no sense to involve themselves in that." she retorted, glaring daggers at the Breton Woman.

Esbern, upon hearing the rising pitch of voices, had widely edged away and began to explore the temple.

"Oh, so they convinced you with their peaceful ways? Will you to sit back and watch the world burn around you?" Delphine fumed, pointing an accusatory finger at the smaller woman's chest.

"This isn't about me! I will gladly watch this world burn for the sake of power!" she roared into Delphine's twisted face, the stone beginning to smolder around her feet.

Silence.

Delphine had gone pale, sweat already beading on her brow from the rising heat. Madrigal sucked in a lungful of scorching air, glancing at the wall, and the seething woman before her, one more time before spinning on her heel, walking away.

The Blade said nothing, watching the Dragonborn retreat up the stone steps behind the wall, through the multiple tiers of engraved bronze doors, out into the velvet black of the night beyond.

The clang of the door left a heavy silence in the temple.

"Esbern?" Delphine said softly.

"What is it Delphi?" the old man questioned, walking out of the shadows with a stack of books overflowing in his wiry arms.

"I want you to look through any book you can find on past Dragonborns. And not the Emperors, only Dragonborns who existed alongside dragons, and subsequently, killed them." she commanded starkly, still staring at where the Dragonborn had left.

"Urm, Why?" Esbern asked curiously.

"Just do it." she hissed into the quiet of the cavern.

"Very well." came the simple reply.

* * *

"Ma'am! Ma'am, you left so suddenly!" was the loud exclamation that cut through the silence of the night like a knife.

Madrigal had been sitting under the stars in the freezing winter chill at the edge of a rather menacing cliff.

She was a fool.

What had she said? Everything was blur. She didn't even know why she had become so enraged. She felt like an overflowing kettle about to explode.

So she had come outside, heart crawling up her throat and stomach in knots, and sat by the cliff waiting for the sun to rise over the Druadachs. Lydia had interrupted that.

"While you were having that, uh, discussion, I explored a bit and found this neat sword that I thought you might like." Lydia said brightly, raising a gleaming Blades sword of Akaviri make that was crackling with purple energy.

Madrigal reached out her hand, making to grab it, but as soon as her skin made contact with the weapon, she hissed in pain, recoiling as every cell in her body seemed to reject the sword. The _Dov_ in her mind screeched with pain, making her mind ache.

"By Oblivion, what the hell kind of enchantment does that thing have?" she hissed, cradling her now numb hand.

"Well, I asked the old man and he said it's built to specifically harm Dragons." she answered innocently.

 _Oh for the love of the Divines-_

"Why don't you use it Lydia? I think i'm going to focus on my spell work a bit more." she declared, smiling at her companions concerned face. Speaking of companions, Lydia had ditched her old steel armour for what looked like-

Was that Blades armor?

Dark blue plates of metal overlapped each other in bands, shot through with gold inlay and detailing. It was of fine make, even if it looked to be several centuries old.

Lydia grinned sheepishly at her wandering gaze. "I didn't think you'd want this since you prefer lighter stuff, so I hope you don't mind if I take it." she admitted, buckling the previously proffered sword to her waist.

"That's just fine, Lydia." she acknowledged warmly.


	10. The Throat of the World

_Wow, short chapter. Only about 3,000 words to be exact. This was so tedious to write, there's almost no action, all dialogue. (Curse you Paarthurnax!) I think i'm going to make the next chapter a filler, just to bring some diversity to the story and give a bit of breathing space from saving the world. One hint: Daedric quests ;)_

* * *

 _What do you mean, "You can't teach me the shout!"_

 **We refuse,** Sahloknir rumbled.

This had been going on for about an hour now. On the long walk to Ivarstead Madrigal had decided to ask the Dragon's about the mystery shout to defeat Alduin.

So far it had turned up rather frustrating results.

 **Mu dreh ni thaarn hi, Dovahkiin. Alduin is still our liege lord.** Mirmulnir added unhelpfully.

It was growing harder to control them by the day, and now they refused her of anything. Her restrained mental leash seemed to have snapped, and now the rebellious Dov ran rampant.

With a furious snarl, she blocked them out, or at least tried to.

She had been curious about the silence of the three new Dragons, but according to Mirmulnir they were young and had not even earned their names yet. She would ask the Greybeards about Dragon hierarchy when she got to High Hrothgar.

Speaking of High Hrothgar, the bleak monastery could be seen, only barely, amidst the snow bluffs and flurries of freezing wind.

It was very, very, high.

She groaned in despair as they reached the small mountain town of Ivarstead. Another day and a half of hiking.

Fun.

* * *

It was with welcome relief that the two women collapsed inside the receiving stone walls of the Greybeards home. They sat there, shivering, waiting for the heat to crawl back into their bones as Arngeir approached.

"Dovahkiin, welcome back to High Hrothgar," he greeted warmly as Madrigal stood up on numb legs.

Shaking the snow off of her shoulders, she turned to Lydia, "Wait here," she ordered. "Master Arngeir," she began. "We need to talk."

He motioned for her to follow, walking up the stairs. "What is it that troubles you, child?" he asked calmly, coming to sit in one of the many chairs scattered in the hall.

She wanted to trust Arngeir, truly, she did. Her now scaled hand burned beneath her glove.

No, not yet.

"I need to learn the shout that was used to defeat Alduin." she stated briskly.

His eyes darkened. "Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?" he commanded, clenching his lined hands. He sounded afraid, and angry, more so than she had ever seen from him.

"It was recorded on Alduin's Wall." she said coolly, crossing her arms.

"The Blades! Of course." he spat. "They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds."

The mysterious animosity between the Blades and monks looked to be mutual.

"They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?" he announced venomously, standing to meet her eyes.

"I'm not anyone's puppet," she hissed. "I'm in this for myself and the rest of the wretched world. In fact, when I last saw Delphine, I argued with her so much I don't think they'll even bother with me." she assured, challenging the withered Nord.

"This is not about how you feel about them, it is about the fact that they will attempt to subvert you from your path." Arngeir retorted, slightly calmer upon her brusk reaction.

She struggled to cut back her fire, attempting to cool down as well. "My path is my own. If they end up leading me anywhere, it will be of my own volition." she bit out through clenched teeth.

"Consider this, the shout was used once before, and here we are again." he stated matter-of-factly. "Have you ever considered," he began softly, "that Alduin was never meant to be defeated? Those who overthrew him in ancient times only postponed the day of reckoning, they did not stop it. If the world is meant to end, so be it. Let it end and be reborn."

"I will not let him win. And if you won't help me, then i'll just find the Shout on my own." she cursed, making to turn away.

Suddenly, the stones beneath her feet began to shake and quiver. Was Arngeir - no, it couldn't be -

Einarth was speaking.

She spun back to face the previously mute monk, shock written across her features as shame spread across Arngeir's.

" **Arngeir. Rok los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax."** whispered the raspy voice, hoarse from misuse.

"Dragonborn… wait." Arngeir called out.

She faced the man, saying nothing.

"Forgive me. I was… intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision of whether or not to help you is not mine to make." he admitted, face downcast.

"So you can teach me the shout?" she questioned, hope rising in her chest.

"No, I cannot teach it to you,"

She was about to argue, but he cut her off.

"Because I do not know it. It is called 'Dragonrend', but it's Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice." he finished.

"What could be so bad about it?" she queried. "I thought you knew all of the words."

Arngeir sighed, looking at her with weary eyes. "It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for Dragons, and they poured all of that anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself." he warned, eyes pleading with her.

Inside, her stomach had gone cold. Under her current… conditions, allowing more anger to fester in her seemed like one of the worst things she could do. But wouldn't she? If it meant the survival of everyone else, would she sacrifice her last vestiges of morality and justice, for this? A shout?

Maybe.

"If you don't know it, then who does?" she asked impatiently.

"Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses."

"Who is Paarthurnax?" she inquired. The name sounded like a Dovah _,_ but no, it couldn't be a dragon. Perhaps some incredibly long lived Nord? That sounded even more ridiculous.

 **Gruth Do Un Fron, Gruth Do Fin Thur,** chanted Sahloknir.

 **Fahdon Do Lir,** crowed Mirmulnir.

They called out, over and over,

 **Vobalaan, Vobalaan, Vobalaan, Vobalaan, Vobalaan.**

"He is our leader. He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice." Arngeir answered calmly, unknowing to the clamor in her mind.

"Well, is there a reason why,"she winced as the Dov grew louder, "I haven't met him?"

Arngeir scrutinized her for a moment before speaking, "He lives in seclusion at the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege."

If she needed to see this Paarthurnax to gain the shout, she would gladly climb up a mountain to get it, even in this god's forsaken weather.

"Alright," she said confidently. "How do I get there?"

* * *

The fates were surely laughing at her, she thought as she stared down the violent rotating wall of wind and ice that barred the way to Paarthurnax. It really was never easy. This Paarthurnax better give her the secrets to Aetherius and then some.

Arngeir approached, glancing at the obscured path with unease. "The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate." he motioned a robed limb to the blizzard beyond. "I will show you how to open the way."

Arngeir walked past her, standing in front of a great bonfire that warmed the frigid air around them. Einarth, Borri, and Wulfgar stood behind him, watching as silent as ever. Arngeir breathed deeply, the fringes of his grey beard whipping in the wind.

" **Lok,"** he exhaled softly, a great crack ringing above the wind as the stone split beneath his feet, glowing bright cherry red against the snow.

" **Vah,"** he breathed once more, another engraving of Dovahzul spreading across the ground.

" **Koor,"** he whispered, the slashes spider webbing over the stone.

She stepped forward, stopping next to each of the glowing words below, drinking them in like fine wine as the knowledge and power flowed through her. Itching, eager, and ready for the shout, she turned to Arngeir.

"I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us Dragonborn. Use it well." with that said, he spread his arms wide, closing his eyes as the stream of colored energy escaped him, twisting hypnotically through the air until it reached her. It sunk in deep, burrowing its way into her soul. It was cold and clear, so sharp it took her breath away. But peaceful, serene and comforting, like jumping into a freezing lake and succumbing to the cold.

"Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time," he warned. "The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit."

She didn't know why, but this whole situation felt sad somehow. Like saying goodbye to a loved one and moving on. It felt as if she was leaving the tutelage of the Greybeards behind, going off to find her future behind the swirling depths of the mountain pass.

Wiping the snowflakes from her eyes, she grabbed Lydia's arm, and step by step, walked up the stairs to the gate above. She didn't look back, nor did she falter. Upon reaching the gate she sucked down a lungful of air, the words building on her tongue.

" **LOK VAH KOOR."**

It was a shock wave, ringing out in the mountain air. Miraculously, the wind and snow bent beneath her voice, showing the snowy path ahead. Lydia following close behind, she marched into the unknown, prepared for whatever might greet her at the top of the mountain. She would be ready. She had to be.

* * *

She was thoroughly exhausted upon reaching the summit. It had taken the better part of an hour, fighting ice wraiths as she fought to stave off the mist. It was nerve wracking, turning around time and time again only to find the mist growing closer and closer each time.

But they were here. No bitter wind tore at their clothes, no ice wraiths leapt up to attack them, it was only calm.

Madrigal circled, glancing up at the clear azure sky. Everything was still, almost eerily so. Even the biting cold seemed to have abated. The silence weighed on her, and the mountain air was growing more difficult to breath. Where was this Paarthurnax?

Wing beats pounded through the air. No, it couldn't be possible.

She turned as a shadow passed over her. A massive Dovah _,_ one of the biggest she had ever seen, was flying towards her.

Lydia yelped in alarm, running to hide behind a rock as Madrigal stood in awe.

Paarthurnax.

He carried an aura of stillness, much like his mountaintop home. A huge crest of jagged horns encircled his skull, giving him a rugged, powerful appearance. Wings the color of dry moss slammed into the rock above her, his serpentine neck craning downwards to gaze upon her with pale blue eyes the color of ice.

Mirmulnir, Sahloknir, and the other Dragons began raging, screeching, and howling to such a pitch that it almost brought her to her knees.

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax," he spoke slowly, as if restraining himself, but every word was genuine, no anger or challenge laced his welcome. "Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah… my mountain?" he rumbled.

It took her a moment to find her words again. "I… was not expecting a Dragon." she said in wonder, staring dumbstruck at the Dovah before her.

"Hhmm, I am as my father Akatosh made me… as are you Dovahkiin _._ Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?" he pondered, cocking his colossal skull to one side.

"I need to learn the Shout Dragonrend. Do you know it?" she proposed.

He hummed to himself, rocking back to sit on his muscled haunches. "Drem. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the Dov _."_

He shuffled, rotating his immense body so he was facing an old, worn down Word Wall that was nestled just against the very edge of the summit. "By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!"

With that, he sanpped his neck down, unhinging his jaw in a mighty roar. " **YOL TOOR SHUL."** A torrent of white-hot flame burst from his maw, scorching the air around them. His flames blasted against the wall, igniting the weathered Dovahzul that was scratched across the surface.

Excitement fueling her every step, she bounded up to the wall, eagerly tracing the glowing markings with her eyes. Yol branded itself across her vision.

"A gift, Dovahkiin _._ Yol. Understand Fire as the Dov do." The same tendrils of light that the Greybeards had transferred to her now emanated from him, spreading out in great, thick threads. They felt stronger, somehow, like whips and cords of lava branding her flesh as it became a part of her.

Paarthurnax raised his head in challenge, "Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as Elf, but as Dovah!" he thundered.

Obeying his command, Madrigal reared back, heat building in her chest. " **YOL,"** she shouted. A stream of flame spewed from her lips, flowing over Paarthurnax's body in a rush of heat.

Her insides were on fire, her lips scorched. Everything was burning with a comforting warmth and a bright fury, making her want to attack someone and fall asleep at the same time.

When the flames spluttered and died, Paarthurnax purred in satisfaction, shaking his body to dislodge any stray embers left in his scales. "Aaah… yes! Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind." he cajoled, once more turning to look at her.

"Ah, I have expected you. would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old Dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin." he concluded, peering at her with his pale eyes.

She huffed, nodding her head at Dov _._ "Arngeir tried his best to keep me from reaching you."

He closed his eyes, humming to himself. "Yes," he rumbled, opening his frosty gaze once more. "They are very protective of me. Bahlaan Fahdonne."

Paarthurnax lapsed into silence, watching her attentively. "I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me." he stated simply.

"What do you mean, 'You can't teach it to me?' she spluttered, throwing her hands up in frustration. How hard was it to find this one damnable Shout?

"Drem, child. I am not quite done yet." he chided calmly. "Your kind - Joorre - mortals - created it as a weapon against the Dov… the Dragons. Our hadrimme, our minds, cannot even… comprehend it's concepts." he said with a shudder that shook the earth beneath her feet.

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, crossing her arms as a scowl spread across her masked face. "How do you expect me to find it, then? If you don't know it, and the Greybeards don't know it, hell even -" she stopped as thoughts of Mirmulnir and Sahloknir crossed her mind. She coughed in an attempt to hide her blunder, "No one else that i've talked to knows it."

The old Dov cocked his substantial head, studying her once more. He blinked his pale eyes once, twice, three times. "Tell me," he asked. "Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?"

She shrugged her shoulders, meeting his gaze defiantly. "Why not? He's a challenge, an obstacle, and-" she cast her arm out, motioning to the mountain tops and snow around them. "I live in the world he so desperately wants to destroy."

Paarthurnax chuckled, with what she could only assume was a draconic smile spreading across his scaled face. "Indeed, although some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass.

Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa?" he pondered. "Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

She laughed acidly, "Why should I care about the next world? It will just have to take care of itself."

"Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus… maybe you only work to balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world." he nodded slowly, shuffling his wings as he did so. "Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end. Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who hasten the end, may delay it. Those who delay the end, may bring it closer."

She scuffed her feet across the frozen ground, frowning. Her urge to move and do something, do anything, was beginning to wear her patience.

Paarthurnax, reading her souring mood, spoke once more. "You have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question."

The old Dov shuffled awkwardly over to the Word Wall, folding up his great wings and promptly laying on the snow. Curiously, she noted, the snow around him began to melt almost instantly. She debated it for a second or so, but eventually she too sat down on the now semi-frozen ground.

"Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven - what you name the Throat of the World?" he asked, blowing puffs of vapor into the air with his every breath.

She chuckled, amused by the question. "No, I thought Dragons liked mountains."

He closed his eyes, resting his armored skull against the earth. "Hmmm… True. But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad… perhaps none but me now remember how he was bested."

She nodded, "With Dragonrend, right?"

He furrowed his celadon colored brows, cracking open his pale blue orbs. "Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here seeking to… end him once more. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad.

It was the Kel - the Elder Scroll. They used it to… cast him adrift on the currents of Time."

Elder Scroll. Elder Scroll, it was on the tip of her tongue. She had to have heard it somewhere, it sounded familiar.

She scooted a bit closer to the intense heat wafting off of Paarthurnax, back facing him as she asked, "What is an Elder Scroll?"

He hummed again, vibrating his entire body. "How to explain it in your tongue? The Dov have words for such things that the Joorre do not.

It is an… artifact from outside time." he began slowly. "It does not exist, but it has always existed. Rah wahlaan. They are…" he was quiet for a moment, deep in concentration. "They are fragments of creation. The Kelle… Elder Scrolls, as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Indeed, your prophecy came from an Elder Scroll. But this is only a small part of their power. Zofaas suleyk."

"So you're telling me that the ancient Nords sent Alduin _forward_ in time?" she asked incredulously, twisting to face him, mouth agape.

"Hmm… Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost."

"Meyye." he drawled scathingly.

"I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever forward. One day he would surface."

He lashed his spaded tail, whipping flurries of snow into the air. "That is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when."

She frowned, "This is incredibly interesting, Paarthurnax, but how does this help me?"

"Bah! Young Dov always eager to fly away and adventure." he grumbled.

She shrugged apologetically.

He sighed, "Tiid krent. Time was… s _hattered_ here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, the Elder Scroll back here… to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound…" he motioned with his tail to a glimmering, shifting veil of warping snow and light. "With the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those that created it." he concluded, albeit a bit smugly at his own genius.

"Do you know where I can find this Elder Scroll?" she asked, standing up as she brushed the snow that had gathered on her shoulders and lap.

"Krosis. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here." he grunted, blowing copious amounts of steam into the air. "You are likely better informed than I."

She grinned ruefully, "The College of Winterhold might know."

"Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way."

With a simple farewell, she said goodbye to Paarthurnax. Currently, she was striding towards a certain rock that hid a certain Nord.

"Get up Lydia," she called out exuberantly. "We're going to do some studying."

The only reply was a loud groan.


End file.
